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[30 Cts. 


Appletons’ 

New Handy-Volume Series. 


A 

Thorough Bohemienne. 


Madame CHARLES REYBAUD. 



NEW YORK; 

D. APPLETON & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS. 


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|;CONTINUED ON THIRD PAGE OF COVER.] 


APPLETONS’ NEW HANDY-VOLUME SERIES. V". U 


A 

THOROUGH BOHEMIEME. 



BY 



Madame CHARLES REYBAUD, 

ATJTHOB OF “THE GOLDSMITH’S WIFE.” 



NEW YORK: 

B. APPLETON AND COMPANY, 

5-19 AND 551 BROADWAY. 

1879. 



COPTEIGIIT BY 

D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 
1879 . 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIEME. 


I. 

On the northern coast of Brittany, facing a 
deeply indented bay, stands an old chateau, or, to 
use the language of the country, a manor-house, 
the greater part of which dates from the early 
part of the sixteenth century, when the Duchess 
Anne reigned over Brittany and over France. 
The great feudal wars then were terminated, and 
the nobility no longer intrenched their dwellings 
with those formidable defenses which imparted 
to seigniorial mansions so much of the aspect 
of a prison. 

The chateau of Kerbsejean, built by one of 
the officials of the court of the queen-duchess, 
has neither donjon nor keep, drawbridge nor 
moat. The fa9ade, flanked by two slender tow- 
ers, is pierced by small windows, with lozenge- 
shaped panes ; and at the end of the vaulted 
passage, which serves a vestibule, rises a spiral 
staircase ascending to the top of the house. 


4 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


In front of the principal entrance is a hroad 
terrace shaded by magnificent lindens. A solid 
wall upholds this terrace, while through an arch 
below passes the road which leads to Saint-Pol-de- 
Leon. The wall is surmounted by a stone para- 
pet which gives a monumental air to the whole 
building. 

At the time of the spring tides the sea rises 
as high as the terrace ; and at all times can be 
heard from under the lindens the swash and mur- 
mur of the waves as they break on the rocks with 
which the shores are covered. 

Kot far from the chateau of Kerbsejean lies a 
long line of half-tumble-down houses, following 
the shore of the bay. These represent the little 

village of R the port where smugglers and 

pirates formerly landed their booty. Once a nu- 
merous population enlivened this spot, but it dis- 
appeared or died out when maritime v>^ars ceased ; 
and in our day few of these houses have either 
windows or doors. Piles of rubbish indicate the 
direction in which the streets formerly ran, while 
it is with difficulty that one can find a sign of the 
wharves whereon so many fine cargoes were de- 
posited. It is now no more than a miserable 
fishing village. 

One morning in the beginning of July, some 
few years since, a young girl — almost a child in- 
deed — and a middle-aged woman, with the air of 
a governess, were seated near the parapet, in the 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


5 


shadow of the lindens. The governess worked 
steadily and silently at her embroidery, while her 
pupil was drawing with quaint precision the out- 
lines of the landscape and the bay. 

The girl was very beautiful. She had the 
dazzling complexion, blue eyes, and abundant fair 
hair of the daughters of the soil. Living in 
this old manor, it was easy to divine that she was 
a Kerbsejean. The governess too was a Bretonne. 
She had the calm, gentle features and the honest 
countenance of the women of that land. 

Suddenly the girl stopped to listen, with pencil 
uplifted. 

“ Hark ! Madame Gervais,” she said, “ do you 
not hear music ? 

“ Some one has a tamborine under the ten-ace, 
my dear ; that is all,” answered the governess. 

Mademoiselle de Kerbsejean rose and leaned 
over the parapet. 

“ Oh ! dear Gervais,” she said in a tone of sup- 
pressed amazement, ‘‘ come and look quickly ! ” 

Two persons, a man of forty and a very young 
girl, were resting against the wall, by the side of 
a little babbling brook that bravely crossed the 
road at this point. Their costume was mo^t con- 
spicuous and eccentric. The man wore a silk coat 
covered with spangles and faded embroidery ; a 
tow wig did duty instead of hat, and some artifi- 
cial flowers were jauntily stuck in his button-hole. 
His breeches were short and of somewhat equivo- 


6 


A THOKOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


cal whiteness, while the soles of his low shoes 
were split and worn. He was wiping his face 
with a blue checked handkerchief, so old that it 
was full of holes. He was evidently one of those 
mountebanks, one of those perambulating musi- 
cians, to whom the public frequenting the inns at 
the cross-roads have agreed to give that most pre- 
posterous title of ‘Hhe Marquis of Artichokes.” 

The girl was attired in much the same style. 
Her white cotton dress was very short, and 
trimmed around just above the knees with a 
soiled ribbon which had been originally of a pale 
blue. A much-worn velvet waist and high-laced 
boots completed her costume. We must not omit 
to mention her ornaments, which consisted of a 
sort of diadem trimmed with gold lace ; it served 
to keep her brown curls in comparative order. 
Brass rings hung from her ears, and a huge chain 
of the same metal was passed twice around her 
throat ; while pewter and brass rings were on 
every finger of her small brown hands. This 
strange-looking creature shook her tamborine and 
hummed a Tyrolean air as she sat and watched ^ 
the coming in of the tide. 

Meanwhile the man in the wig had taken a 
piece of bread from his pocket, a handful of cher- 
ries, and a tiny gourd. 

“Well ! Mimi,” he said, breaking the bread 
in two equal portions, “ do you not think it quite 
time for breakfast ? ” 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


7 


“ Eat, father,” she answered without turning 
her head. Eat ; I am not in the least hungry.” 

‘‘ Our feast to-day does not amount to much, 
my poor child,” said the man with a sigh ; “ but 
yesterday was really a very bad day ! only thirty- 
five centimes did we make. But we shall do bet- 
ter at Morlaix, which is a commercial town. I 
think, too, I will try my luck in the village over 
there. We will spread that carpet down before 
the coast-guard station. You will dance, , and I 
win execute some of my feats of legerdemain ; 
and it will be hard luck if a silver piece or two 
does not fall into your saucer. Come, Mimi, eat 
a bit and cheer up. We will dine well to-night.” 

“ Can we have soup ? ” asked Mimi earnestly. 

“ Certainly, little girl ; but in the mean time 
you had best not scorn your breakfast,” murmured 
the father with a sigh. 

“ I do not scorn it,” answered Mimi ; “ bread 
and cherries are two very good things, I am 
sure ! ” 

It is because the piece of bread is so small 
then,” said the mountebank, with tears in his 
eyes ; ‘‘ you think it is no more than I want my- 
self.” 

Mimi shrugged her shoulders. 

Never mind, papa ! ” she exclaimed as she 
shook the bells of her tamborine. “Eat your 
breakfast ; you must be very hungry ! ” 

Mademoiselle de Kerbsejean had heard all this 


8 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


conversation unseen by the speakers. She now 
turned toward Madame Gervais with tears in her 
eyes. ' 

“ Poor things ! ” she exclaimed. “ Poor things ! 
They must have a good breakfast sent out to 
them at once ! ” 

“Very weU, my dear,” answered the gover- 
ness ; “ I will go and give the necessary orders.” 

“No,” answered the girl impulsively, eager to 
relieve this uncomplaining poverty — a poverty 
which bore so proudly, too, all this strange frippery 
instead of common-place rags — “No, I will go 
myself.” 

A few minutes more, and a servant was seen 
going down the road with a basket on his arm and 
a bottle in his hand. 

The mountebank placed the cherries before 
Mimi and began to eat his dry bread with a hearty 
relish. 

“ There is far more than I want, as you will 
see, my dear ; and I do nqt choose that my daugh- 
ter shall deny herself to pamper her old father. 
There are two swallows of brandy left in the 
gourd ; we will divide those, my dear ! It is not 
as good as a glass of good wine, but it is at all 
events better than pure water ! Just think, Mimi, 
what a delicious breakfast we could have on this 
grass, with a little cold meat and a bottle of wine 
between us ! ” 

At that moment the servant appeared as by 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 9 

magic, and, placing before them the basket and 
bottle of wine, said, as he took off his laced 
cap : • 

‘‘ Here are a few provisions. I trust you will 
enjoy them. I will come back after a while for 
the basket and napkin.” 

And he disappeared as rapidly as he had come. 

Mimi and her father looked at each other in 
utter stupefaction. 

“ Let us see ! ” cried Mimi, lifting the white 
napkin which covered the basket. 

“ Cold veal, cheese, and fresh bread ! ” said 
her father, rubbing his hands in ecstasy. 

‘‘Yes, that is good, very good!” murmured 
Mimi gravely ; and, taking a small knife from her 
pocket, she proceeded to cut the meat into slices. 
This done, both father and daughter began to eat 
eagerly, like people absorbed in the satisfaction 
of an imperious need. When their first hunger 
was in some degree appeased, the mountebank 
recovered his speech — 

“ Ho you know,” he said, “ that I feel as if 
it were a fairy tale ? ” 

“Yes, isn’t it strange?” answered Mimi. 

“ Who could have sent this basket ? ” resumed 
her father. “ It may have been the master of the 
chateau — the old gentleman who saw us through 
the gate, and who returned our bow with so much 
politeness. Who knows,” he added with ingenu- 
ous vanity, “ that he did not see us yesterday at 


10 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


Saint-Pol-de-Leon on the square ? He liked your 
dancing.” 

‘‘^ery likely!” murmured Mimi indifferent- 
ly. “ But look here, papa ; there is another glass 
in the bottle ; take it.” 

“ No, indeed,” he replied ; ‘‘ this good wine is 
going to my head.” Then crossing his hands over 
his stomach, he added with a blissful look : My 
dear, I have breakfasted like a king ! And the 
dessert, Mimi — have you forgotten the dessert ? 
We have some cherries, you know ; now eat 
them.” 

Mimi took some, but murmured presently in a 
regretful tone, ‘‘ What a pity ! I cannot eat an- 
other mouthful.” 

“ What a pity ! ” repeated the mountebank. 
“ There is still a good bit of meat and some bread 
left. Suppose I put them in paper for us to- 
night ? ” 

Pshaw ! we should have to carry them.” 

‘‘ But I don’t think it would be polite to put 
the leavings back in the basket,” remonstrated 
her father. 

Mimi without a word tossed the debris of their 
meal some little distance away among the grass, 
covered the basket with the napkin, and then 
leaned back against the wall with folded arms. 

“ I am sleepy,” she murmured with half-closed 
eyes. 

“And so am I,” replied the mountebank. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


11 


stretching himself out at full length upon the 
turf. 

‘‘ Au revoir, papa,” said the girl with a laugh; 

A few moments later, when the servant came 
for the basket, he found the two soundly sleeping ; 
and a poor woman passing by had gathered up 
the remains of their repast from the grass. 


II. 

The same day, in the afternoon, the Kerbs6- 
jean family were all assembled in a large salon 
which had much the appearance of a museum. 
Thanks to the isolated position, the manor had 
not been visited by the soldiery of the French 
Republic, and no revolutionary hand had ever 
been laid upon the heraldic emblems or the pic- 
tures of saints, lords, and ladies which hung upon 
the walls. Although the furniture of this salon 
had been in some degree renewed, and deliciously 
comfortable sofas and chairs stood all about, and 
a piano and jardiniere of extremely modern style 
were also there, the general air of the apartment 
and its decorations belonged to the time of Queen 
Anne. The Kerbsejean coat of arms was sculp- 
tured in high relief over the enormous chimney, 
where tall dogs of iron elaborately wrought sup- 
ported noble logs of oak. The cipher of the 
Queen-Duchess and the arms of Brittany shone 


12 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


above tbe windows, and again in tbe center of the 
ceiling. 

The Kerbsejean family was by no means nu- 
merous. In the salon were only three persons : 
the pretty Irene, her father, the Count Jean de 
Kerbs4jean, and the Count’s uncle, another Kerb- 
sejean, formerly a Knight of Malta, but who 
since the suppression of the order resided at the 
manor. Those members of this family circle who 
had been prematurely removed by death seemed 
not to have altogether quitted their old home, for 
traces of them were to be seen in every direction. 
It was as if Irene’s mother and her dead brothers 
were expected momentarily to resume their places 
in the salon. The young mother’s embroidery 
frame was still in the corner by the window, in 
front of the chair where it had been her habit to 
sit. Her favorite books were on the 6tag^re 
within reach of her hand, and her light straw hat 
which she was in the habit of wearing when she 
went into the garden hung on the curtain hook. 
A pile of children’s toys lay heaped in the same 
corner, as if they had been used an hour before. 
Opposite the chimney there was a large picture 
of Madame de Kerbs4jean and her sons ; and 
these charming youthful faces seemed to smile 
from the canvas. 

This home circle presented strange contrasts. 
Count de Kerbsejean was a man of forty, and 
looked older. His complexion had lost its fresh- 


A THOKOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


13 


ness, and he was acquiring an embonpoint which 
threatened to terminate in absolute obesity. He 
was beginning to be negligent in his dress, to 
wear a loose coat and pantaloons. This costume 
added to his years, and whoever saw him now for 
the first time would have had much difficulty in 
crediting that he had once been called ‘‘ the hand- 
some Kerbsejean.” 

The old Chevalier of Malta was, on the con- 
trary, erect and alert. His costume, which was 
almost that of a naval officer, suited his proud 
face and carriage. His figure was almost as slen- 
der and his bearing quite as haughty as when he 
sailed in the Levant upon one of the Maltese gal- 
leys. 

The uncle and his nephew were finishing a 
game of chess, and the youthful Ir(^ne, with both 
elbows on the table, was trying to follow the 
shrewd combinations of th-e two adversaries. 
After a quarter of an hour of profound silence, 
the Count swept the men off the board with a re- 
signed air. 

You had a chance still,” said the Chevalier 
with a smile. “ Will you have your revenge ? ” 

“ l^ot just now, uncle,” replied the Count ; “ I 
am going outside with a cigar until dinner is 
ready.” 

With these words he took his hat and stick 
and lounged out of the room. Irene slipped into 
her father’s chair at the chess table, deftly ar- 


14 


A THOKOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


ranged the men, and sat with an expectant look on 
her pretty face, waiting for her uncle to ask her to 
play with him. But the Chevalier sat leaning his 
head on his hand, pensive or moody, it was hard 
to tell which. After a long silence the child said, 
in a low voice and in a caressing tone : 

“ Uncle Pierre, you are sad.” 

I am anxious,” he replied with a sigh. 

‘‘ Is it that business about the will ? ” she asked 
sympathetically. 

“ Yes, dear,” said her uncle. 

But his words were not altogether true. The 
death of a relative in the colonies, and the will 
made by this relative bequeathing his property to 
him, certainly crowded upon him many business 
cares ; but with these he was far less occupied 
and harassed than by a matter which was going 
on under his eyes. He realized with inexpressible 
pain that Irene’s father was falling into a sort of 
moral deterioration or decay, the progress of which 
was becoming daily more rapid. 

The Count de Kerbs4jean was of limited in- 
tellectual development, with neither elevated tastes 
nor aims — altogether weak and facile in character. 
But a careful education and the watchful influ- 
ence of his family had modifled the development 
of low tastes, and Count Jean, as he had been called 
before his father’s death, passed for rather an ele- 
gant and distinguished personage, with suffiicient 
sense and education for ordinary every-day life. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


15 


At a very early age he married a clever and 
charming woman, whom he loved with his whole 
heart, and she soon acquii’ed over him a moral as- 
cendancy. The change in him, his decadence, 
dated from the day of her death. After the first 
transports of uncontrolled despair, the Count 
lapsed into stolid resignation, which induced those 
around him to think that he was soon consoled. 
His habits of life changed entirely. He shut 
himself up from the world, and, instead of spend- 
ing his winters at Brest or Paris, he remained the 
entire year at Kerbsejean. He spent most of his 
time within doors, at first occupying himself with 
the education of his daughter, and finding suffi- 
cient gentle excitement in conversing with the 
Chevalier. By degrees, however, he acquired 
the habit of mixing with his inferiors, where un- 
fortunately he soon felt himself thoroughly at 
home. 

This man, who had lived in the best circles in 
France, spent his mornings lounging on the beach, 
seeking some companion with whom he could ex- 
change his views upon the weather while he 
smoked his pipe. He wandered along the shore 
until he reached the village and an establishment 
honored by the mythological name of the Cafe de 
Neptune, but which was in reality a miserable ta- 
haret, where far more brandy was consumed than 
Mocha. There he was certain of finding a half 
dozen loungers who did him the honor of smok- 


16 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


ing and drinking with him ; and in their society 
he passed the greater part of the day. In the af- 
ternoon he went to the beach again, and lingered 
at the little coast-guard station ; and in the even- 
ing he regularly returned to the Cafe de hTeptune. 
It was even rumored that more than once he had 
been seen at midnight coming home with a very 
uncertain step, and had found considerably diffi- 
culty in climbing the steps of the manor-house. 

The Chevalier had noticed this change in his 
nephew’s mode of life from the very beginning, 
and had done his best to prevent it, and to check 
the formation of these evil habits. He soon, how- 
ever, realized the futility of his efforts, and con- 
tented himself with quietly looking on with an 
aching heart. 

Ir^ne, up to the time of which we v/rite, had 
noticed nothing. At times it seemed to her that 
her father had grown much older, and that she re- 
membered him handsomer and more elegant in 
manners and appearance. Her tenderness and re- 
spect for him were very great ; but she had no 
especial desire to be with him, and preferred the 
society of her dear uncle Pierre, of whom she 
rarely spoke without employing some term of en- 
dearment in addition to his name. 

He, in his turn, had concentrated upon her all 
the affections of the loving nature of an old bach- 
elor who had naught else to care for. She was 
the joy and the happiness of his old age, the 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


17 


comfort of his declining years, the consolation in 
many hours of secret anxiety and bitter disap- 
pointment occasioned him by his nephew. 

On this especial day the Chevalier and his 
grandniece were alone in the salon just before 
dinner, as was their habit. Ir^ne advanced a pawn 
with a coaxing look, and the game began. While 
Irene laughed gayly at having driven her uncle 
into a corner, where he was defending his queen, 
the Count reentered hastily, with a disturbed 
countenance, a reddened nose, and a brow bathed 
in perspiration. 

He leaned on the back of his uncle’s chair, 
breathing very hard, like a man who has been 
running. 

“Ah, Jean, you have come back again then?” 
said the Chevalier, not turning round. 

“ Yes, uncle,” he answered. “ I have been the 
spectator of a scene which has made a terrible 
impression upon me.” 

“ An accident ? ” asked the Chevalier, with a 
bishop suspended between thumb and finger. 

“A most extraordinary one ! And by some 
strange fatality I reached the spot just in time to 
witness it. When I left you half an hour ago, I 
went at once to the village. A little crowd had 
gathered before a cafe to listen to a traveling mu- 
sician who was playing on the guitar and singing 
some gay songs.” 

“ A poor devil in masquerading costume,” in- 
2 


18 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


teiTupted the Chevalier. I saw him this morn- 
ing. He passed the gate with a gypsy girl.” 

“ The very same — a poor thing about the age 
of Ir^ne. She danced while her father played. 
I gave them some money — more, I fancy, than 
they are in the habit of receiving, for the man 
overwhelmed me with thanks. As the crown- 
ing touch to their performance, he spread an old 
carpet down and turned a few double somersaults, 
and stood on his head, and all that sort of thing. 
He finally sprang on the back of a chair and stood 
for a minute with one foot in his hand, uttering 
some poor joke. Unfortunately one of the legs 
of the chair cracked ; the man lost his balance, 
and fell with his arms extended, striking his head 
on the ground. His tow wig fell off. Ho one 
was startled at first, for we all supposed that the 
fall was perfectly natural ; but as he did not move 
some one went to assist him, and then it was seen 
that he was dead ! ” 

“ Dead ! And his poor child ? ” cried Ir^ne. 
She had gone into the caf4, and had not even 
seen her father fall ; but she came out just as the 
men were lifting him, and she heard them say that 
he was dead. The scream she uttered still rings in 
my ears. Hever did I see such despair and grief ! ” 
Poor child ! She loved her father,” said 
Ir^ne, with her eyes full of tears. 

“ How do you know that ? ” asked the Cheva- 
lier in astonishment. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


19 


“ I saw them this morning,” his niece an- 
swered. ‘‘ They were lying by the side of the 
road, and, as I was on the terrace, I could hear 
them talk. The father urged the girl to eat, and 
she refused because there was not enough bread 
for both.” 

“ Oh, my child ! you heard that — ^you saw hun- 
gry people at our very door, and said nothing ! ” 
interrupted the Chevalier reproachfully. 

“ Do not be troubled, dear uncle,” answered 
the girl with an expression that went right to the 
heart of the good man. “ They did not go away 
hungry,” she added slowly. 

Her uncle drew her fair face down to his, and 
kissed her brow with tears in his eyes, saying in a 
low voice, “ Forgive me, sweet.” 

“ The body of this unfortunate man was car- 
ried into Cattel Piolot’s house,” continued the 
Count ; “ I gave them money that they might do 
all that was necessary, and bade them take care 
of the child.” 

“We will see what we can do for her,” said 
the Chevalier. 

“ I know,” said Ir^ne, before whose eyes flitted 
a vision of the clanking gilt chains and diadem 
above a weeping face. “ First, we must give her 
a black dress.” 

“You are right, my child,” answered her 
Uncle Pierre. “Go find Madame Gervais, and 
beg her to occupy herself at once with that.” 


20 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


“ They will only have to look in the wardrobe,’’ 
said Ir^ne with a sigh ; it is such a little while 
since I left off mourning that my dresses will fit 
the poor thing.” 


III. 

The next day the body of the mountebank 
was borne to the cemetery, and the charitable 
person who had paid the funeral expenses placed 
a black cross at the head of the grave. 

This man, like all such who adopt a traveling 
profession, had all his papers perfectly correct. 
In a small tin case concealed among his clothing 
were his certificate of birth and that of his daugh- 
ter, and other documents, all going to prove that 
he had been married and that the mother of the 
child now left alone in the world had been some 
time dead. After the funeral the Chevalier and 
his grandniece went to the house that sheltered 
poor Mimi. A toothless old woman sat spinning 
in front of the door. 

“ Good morning, Cattel Piolot,” said the Che- 
valier as he came near. 

“ May God for ever bless you, sir, and the 
young lady,” she answered in her Breton patois, 
“ I expected to see you to-day.” 

“We came to see what we could do to console 
the poor little gii'l, and we brought her also a 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIEXNE. 


21 


black dress,” said Ir6ne, showing a package that 
she had taken the trouble to bring herself. 

“ That is very charitable,” murmured the old 
woman. “ You are like one of God’s holy angels.” 
Then, turning to the Chevalier, she added crossly : 
“I have been driven crazy by that gypsy girl. 
When I speak she neither hears nor understands. 
All day long she has done nothing but scream. 
Listen and you will hear her.” 

And at that moment a long melancholy wail 
rang through the small house. 

Ah ! uncle, we came none too soon,” mur- 
mured Ir^ne, her heart fiUed with profound pity, 
as she drew the Chevalier into the corridor of Cat- 
tel Piolot’s house. This dark passage opened into 
a little court-yard whose high walls were covered 
with ivy and moss. 

“ She is in here,” said Cattel Piolot, stopping 
in front of a door on the left and drawing out a 
wooden peg that held the latch down. “ When 
they came to remove the body she was so violent 
that we were obliged to hold her, and then to 
fasten her in here, to prevent her from rushing to 
the cemetery.” 

Mimi was crouched in the corner with her face 
against the wall, and arms limply hanging at her 
sides. The habit that she had necessarily ac- 
quired of fastening all her fineries very tightly to 
prevent them falling during her violent exercise 
had now kept everything steady in its place, and 


22 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


nothing in her fanciful costume was disarranged. 
Her necklace with its triple chains was still dis- 
played over her shabby velvet waist, and on her 
head she wore the diadem with its jingling pen- 
dants. It was evidently to this room that the 
body of the poor mountebank had been brought, 
and here that preparations had been made for the 
funeral. A portion of the poor man’s clothing 
lay in a corner ; his bunch of faded artificial flow- 
ers and his guitar were on a table ; while his 
spangled coat hung on a nail behind the door. 

At this moment, the poor child was silent from 
exhaustion, and but for an occasional sob that 
shook her shoulders one might have thought her 
dead. At this sorrowful sight Ir^ne burst into 
tears and hid her face on her uncle’s shoulder. 
The Chevalier, deeply touched, leaned over the 
girl, and said in a compassionate voice : 

“ My child, try and submit to the will of God. 
Have courage ; you are not entirely friendless and 
abandoned. Charitable persons have come to 
your assistance, and will do all in their power for 
you.” 

Mimi took no notice of these kind words, but 
uttered a heavy sigh and turned her head away, 
as if annoyed by these marks of interest. 

Irene bent over her and said, as she laid the 
bundle of clothing by her side : 

“ There, poor little soul, is a black dress for 
you. Would you not like to put it on at once ? ” 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


23 


Mimi repulsed her with a wild gesture ; then, 
in a new transport of grief, she uttered cry after 
cry of agonized despair, interspersed with inco- 
herent words. 

“ This is the way she has gone on,” said Cattel 
Piolot, shrugging her shoulders. “Instead of 
shedding tears like a Christian, and praying on 
her knees for the soul of her dead father, she has 
conducted herself in this heathen fashion. You 
have spoken too gently to her, sir, by far ; he a 
little rough with her, and perhaps she may come 
to her senses. If she understood a word I said, I 
would try.” 

“ Kot while I am here,” interrupted Irene, in- 
dignantly. 

“ She is in no state to understand us,” said the 
Chevalier, looking at the unfortunate creature, 
who, in spite of her frantic gestures and heavy 
sighs, looked only half alive. 

“ She is not so much out of her senses as you 
fancy,” murmured the old woman. “It is be- 
cause she does not choose to speak, not because she 
does not understand, that she does not answer.” 

“ Poor soul ! ” said Ir^ne, sadly ; “ would that 
it were in my power to comfort her. How glad- 
ly would I do anything for her ! ” 

Again she stooped over Mimi and tried to take 
her hand ; but the girl, turning suddenly around, 
pushed her violently away, crying out at the same 
time : 


24 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


“Leave me ! Do not toucH me. You "know 
nothing of my sufferings. Do not speak to me 
again ! Go away ! You have not lost your 
father. I hate you ! ” 

These words were uttered in a hoarse voice, 
and with wild, affrighted eyes. 

Ah ! Good Heavens ! ” exclaimed Ir^ne, 
starting hack ; “ the shock has driven her crazy ! ” 

Cattel Piolot shook her head and replied has- 
tily : “ No, no, she is not crazy ; she is very wick- 
ed.” 

The Chevalier and his niece had left the room, 
and did not hear these words ; and, when the old 
woman joined them in the corridor, Irene said to 
her : 

“You will take the best of care of this poor 
creature, will you not, my good Cattel ? You will 
try to coax her from that dark room into the sun- 
shine, and you will not leave her alone. If you 
would kindly stay near, perhaps she would be less* 
miserable.” 

“ I have done my best,” muttered the old wo- 
man ; “ but she is just like a caged wild animal, 
and howls if one goes near her.” 

“ She will be calmer soon,” said the Chevalier, 
“ and then we will come and see her again. In 
the mean time I leave her in your care, • Cattel 
Piolot.” 

“Monsieur the Count said the same words to 
me an hour ago,” answered the old woman, grave- 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


25 


ly, “and of course it is my duty to fulfill your 
wishes ; but at the same time I must acknowledge 
to you that I am very anxious to see the last of 
this girl.” 

“ And why, Cattel ? Pray tell me why ? ” 
asked the Chevalier. “ Have you no compassion 
for the unhappy ? ” 

“Yes, sir, plenty,” answered the old woman — 
“ plenty, if they are Christians and Bretons like 
myself. But this is a very different affair. Ho 
one knows who this girl is, nor where she comes 
from ! And then just look at her dress — it is a 
carnival costume ! To tell the truth, sir, I laid 
out the father and watched over the dead body, 
because that is my business ; but, now that the 
poor man is laid in holy ground with the prayers 
of the Church, I do not care to keep his daughter 
any longer under my roof.” 

“ Whom else can I ask to do this good work, 
then ? ” asked the Chevalier, not caring to urge 
the woman. “ I presume the child can stay with 
you, Cattel Piolot, until night ? ” 

“ Until sunset only,” she answered ; “ and if 
you send no one for her then, sir, where shall I 
take her ? ” 

“ To the manor,” he answered, coldly ; “ and 
here are two crowns for you.” 

“ Thanks, sir,” replied the woman, with a ges- 
ture of refusal. “ It was out of charity, and not 
with the hope of reward, that I kept the child 


28 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


here. Give the money to her. Although I have 
a hard struggle to gain my bread, I yet am glad 
to do a kind act sometimes to those worse oif than 
myself, out of love to the dear Lord ! ” 

“ And the dear Lord will not forget you, Cat- 
tel Piolot. I know very well that you are a good, 
kind woman after all,” said the Chevalier, draw- 
ing the hand of his niece through his arm. 

As the two passed down the little garden 
path they looked back, and saw the old Bretonne 
spinning quietly at her door. 

In the twilight Madame Gervais herself went 
for Mimi. Irene’s governess had one of those 
calm, decided characters that can always control 
a passionate, undisciplined nature like Mimi’s. 
When she entered the room where the girl was, 
she went directly to- her, and said gently : 

“ My child, you are to put on this dress at once. 
Come here, that I may assist you.” 

Mimi turned her head, looked the governess 
full in the face for a minute, and obeyed. With- 
out the smallest delay Madame Gervais divested 
her of her tawdry attire and put on a black woolen 
dress, cut close in the throat, and with long sleeves. 
A plain cap took the place of the diadem, which 
with the necklace and bracelets was flung into a 
corner. 

‘‘ And now we are ready — let us go,” said Ma- 
dame Gervais, drawing poor Mimi from the room, 
the girl making no resistance. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


27 


“ You see she is perfectly docile,” said Madame 
Gervais as she passed Cattel Piolot, who was 
awaiting them on the threshold. 

‘‘She is quiet enough just now,” the woman 
answered, examining the sad and unresigned coun- 
tenance of the girl ; “ but all is not over yet. Her 
grief is choking her, for since her misfortune she 
has not shed a tear.” 

Poor Mimi’s eyes were indeed dry ; her con- 
tracted lids were surrounded by a livid circle, and 
her eyes seemed sadly sunk. As soon as she was 
out of the house she began to walk with the great- 
est rapidity, without speaking, without looking 
where she was going, and seemed supported by a 
mechanical force. 

The sun was going down. The air was soft 
and sweet ; while the waves lapped the shores 
dreamily. Cattel Piolot’s house was the farthest 
of all the houses from the chateau of the whole 
line of dilapidated houses ; beyond it the trees and 
bushes grew in wild confusion. 

Suddenly Mimi stopped and looked about with 
parted lips, as if drinking in the fresh breeze 
which came from the water. 

“ Rest a little, my child,” said the good Ma- 
dame Gervais, who had had considerable difficulty 
in following her. “ You are very tired, are you 
not ? ” 

“ i^o,” answered the girl abruptly. And yet 
in a moment she took a seat on a stone and re- 


28 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


mained there in profound silence, with eyes vague- 
ly wandering from sea to sky, now wrapped in 
the gray mist of twilight. The ineffable peace of 
this picture had its effect on the desolate creature ; 
her heart softened, and tears filled her dry and 
aching eyes. 

Madame Gervais was seated at her side and 
made a slight gesture of sympathy, but did not 
speak. Then Mimi turned toward her, and said 
in a low voice broken by sobs : 

“ It is all over ; I have no longer any father, 
lie is dead, the dear father who loved me so much ! 
How can I live without him ? He never left me 
an hour in all my life ; it is he who has always 
taken care of me.” 

“ And your mother ? ” asked Madame Gervais. 

“ My mother died long ago ; I do not remem- 
ber her in the least. When I was too young to 
walk .my father carried me in his arms ; and when 
we were tired, we rested then, and always since, 
on the road-side. If it was cold he covered me 
with his own clothing. Ah, I have been very 
happy, but it never entered my head that my 
father could die. Yesterday — only yesterday — he 
was there, we passed those trees hand in hand ; and 
now he is gone, and I shall never see him again ! ” 

At these words she covered her face with her 
hands and wept. Madame Gervais wisely allowed 
these tears to fall unchecked, and then took the 
girl by the hand and led her to the manor. 


A THOKOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


29 


IV. 

That same night Cattel Piolot was alone in a 
large high room, which was kitchen, parlor, and 
bedchamber all in one. This apartment was on 
the lower floor, and the windows looked out on 
the beach. It was unequally divided by a light 
partition which did not go up to the ceiling. The 
mantelpiece was about the height of a man, and a 
stone bench stood on each side of the chimney, in 
which, in spite of the season, burned a tiny fire of 
green wood. The furniture, apparently very an- 
cient, was so blackened and dilapidated that the 
most intrepid and eager collector of curiosities 
would have hesitated to accept as a gift the stoves 
with quaintly carved legs, the armoire with 
wrought-iron hinges and lock, and the worm-eaten 
table which showed the remains of exquisite mar- 
quetry. One of those beds which in Brittany are 
called lits clos was built in a recess. A lit clos 
is in dimensions a coffin, in appearance a tomb ; 
solid oak boards form its sides, and a calico cur- 
tain hangs over the opening through which the 
unfortunate occupant must slide to this place of 
rest, which neither air nor light can reach. 

The old woman, seated in front of her chim- 
ney, stirred the coals with the end of a stick, and 
drew some potatoes from among the ashes, count- 
ing them aloud as she did so. In one corner of 


30 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


the fireplace a thin, forlorn-looking cat watched 
this operation as if it portended some good to her, 
and uttered an occasional pitiful mew as she licked 
her paws. 

“Be off with you, you lazy glutton,” said 
Cattel Piolot, brandishing her stick. “ Go some- 
where else and work for your living like the rest 
of us. There are plenty of mice in the neighbor- 
hood ! ” 

The poor animal jumped on the window sill. 
The lead-paned lattice was slightly ajar ; the crea- 
ture elongated itself like a weasel and disappeared 
through this narrow opening.' 

“hfow, just look at that?” muttered the old 
woman ; “ that wretched beast will break the 
window from its hinges yet.” 

“ And then robbers will come in there as well 
as through the door ! ” said a laughing voice out- 
side. 

Cattel Piolot started, but answered sharply : 

“Robbers! what would robbers want in this 
poor house ? Go your way, good people, and take 
care of your own affairs.” 

“Do not be disturbed,” answered the same 
voice ; “there are no people here — I am alone. 
Have you finished your supper, Cattel Piolot ? ” 

“Not yet, Count Jean,” she replied, suddenly 
recognizing the person who had spoken. “ How 
long is it since sunset ? ” 

“ About an hour, but the night is very dark.” 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


31 


“ Perhaps it is going to rain. Will you come 
in, Count Jean ? ” 

“ Willingly, for a moment at least,” he an- 
swered, “ particularly if you have a fire. Misfor- 
tunes never come singly. This morning I broke 
my favorite pipe, and this evening I have lost my 
box of matches.” 

The old woman hurried to the door, and, as 
she slipped the bolt and permitted her guest to 
enter her den, she said familiarly : 

“ It is long since you went home so early in 
the evening. Was there no one at the caf6 ? ” 

‘^Not a living soul!” he answered, lighting 
his pipe and taking a seat. “ But at this season 
of the year it is by no means uncommon to find 
the place deserted. They have all gone poaching 
until sunrise.” 

‘‘ But the custom-house officials ? ” 

“ They are not there either. They are on the 
scent of some English merchandise ; at least that 
is what I heard.” 

The old woman glanced through the dingy 
window, and answered with a silent laugh : 

‘‘The night seems made for smugglers. I^Io 
moon and not a star in the sky ! ” 

“ Intensely hot day — stormy night,” said the 
Count sententiously. “ The weather has entirely 
changed, and I shall not be surprised if we have 
a tremendous tempest and high tides. What do 
you think about it, Cattel Piolot ? ” 


32 A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 

“I say that it is raining already,” she an- 
swered, drawing her head hastily in from the win- 
dow. “ Holy Father ! the sky is riddled with 
lightning ! ” 

“ I came here, then, just in time,” murmured 
the Count. It is much more comfortable here 
by this little fire of crackling brushwood than out 
on the shore. But I am keeping you from your 
supper, Cattel Piolot ? ” 

‘‘ My supper is soon finished,” she answered, 
wiping her potatoes and laying them in a wooden 
bowl which she presented to the Count. He 
thanked her with a courteous gesture of refusal. 
Then she said with a knowing wink : 

* ‘‘ I have something to offer you more to your 
taste, I fancy. Although I am a poor woman, 
you must not hurt my feelings by going out of 
my house without partaking of some refreshment. 
Am I not right. Count Jean ? ” 

I should certainly be sorry to wound you,” 
he replied with a smile. 

“ Excuse me if I leave you a few moments in 
the dark,” returned Cattel Piolot, taking the bit 
of candle which smoked and sputtered on the 
corner of the table. “I am going to the cel- 
lar.” 

She apparently experienced some difficulty re- 
garding what she wanted, for she was gone at 
least fifteen minutes. 

“ Oh ! oh ! ” exclaimed the Count as he saw 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


33 


her appear with one of those oddly shaped flat 
bottles which were formerly brought from the 
French colonies, and contained the liqueur known 
as crhme de Barhades. In the other hand she 
carried a pale-green flask, which he knew, as soon 
as he saw it, must hold the best French cognac. 

“ This is Jamaica rum, and the other is bran- 
dy,” she said, as she placed a glass and the two 
bottles before the Count. “ Such rum and such 
brandy are not seen in these days. The rum was 
on board of an English ship that was seized just 
olf here the year of the false peace — ” 

“ False peace ! ” interrupted the Count. “ Do 
you mean the peace of Amiens ? ” 

“ Precisely ! As to the cognac, it was among 
the merchandise that was taken the year that the 
new taxes were levied. There was a fearful fight. 
The custom-house officers thought they got all the 
booty, but they were mistaken. My poor Piolot 
got possession of a case of twenty -five bottles. 
The dear man thought he should drink them in 
peace and comfort ; but, poor fellow, he never 
even tasted a drop ! ” 

“ And why, pray ? ” asked the Count. 
“Because he was killed the very next day.” 
answered Cattel Piolot with a long sigh. 

“ To be sure ; I knew that, and ought to have 
remembered it. But, my poor Cattel,” continued 
Count Jean, “ he was not killed in the engagement 
with the English, if I remember aright.” 

3 


34 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


“ No, unfortunately not ; and that is why I 
could never be comforted. He was killed by the 
custom-house people. The vile dogs ! I loathe 
them even more than I do the English. Yes, that 
green uniform is the greatest enemy we poor peo- 
ple have. But they will go eventually to ever- 
lasting perdition ; that is a thought which is full 
of consolation to me. If I thought I should meet 
one of them in Paradise, I would not care to go 
there ! ” 

After this explosion of the fury and resent- 
ment that still lurked in her bosom, Cattel Piolet 
drew the cork and filled the Count’s glass. 

“ Thanks,” he said ; but I never drink alone. 
Bring a glass for yourself, Cattel Piolot.” 

‘‘ Here it is,” she answered, producing a cracked 
china cup. 

The Count filled it, and they tossed off the 
contents of cup and glass in profound silence. 

“Is it not like velvet as it passes over the 
tongue?” asked Cattel, with evident enjoyment 
of the precious liquid. 

The Count nodded, with an expression which 
said volumes, and was worth more than the most 
pompous eulogium. 

“We will try it again,” said Cattel, pressing 
in the cork tightly ; “ but now I want you to tell 
me what you think of that old cognac.” 

The Count extended his glass, held it up be- 
tween the light and his eyes that he might judge 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 35 

of its color, and then drank drop by drop this 
Languedocean nectar. 

“ Well,” said Cattel Piolot, “ what have you to 
say about it ? ” 

“ I say,” answered the Count, in a tone of pro- 
found conviction, “that good old brandy is the 
best liquor in the world.” 

His glass was already empty. Cattel filled it 
anew, while he put fresh tobacco in his pipe ; then 
they again compared the Jamaica rum and the 
old cognac with so much perseverance and en- 
ergy that both bottles were very sensibly dimin- 
ished. 

“My dear Cattel,” said the Count, suddenly 
becoming very expansive, “ I had no* idea that I 
should finish the evening so agreeably.” 

“Yes, indeed,” said the old woman with a 
chuckle, “ we are snug enough. jSTothing can dis- 
turb us. The rain patters on the window and the 
fire burns merrily. Let us make ourselves com- 
fortable. There is something left in the bottles 
yet.” 

“ My poor Cattel, you are a good woman, an 
excellent woman ! I want to do something for 
you. You need some repaii-s on your house.” 

“ No, indeed ! ” she answered hastily — “ no, 
indeed ; it would disturb me very much to have 
workmen here, and masons make a terrible dust.” 

“ Then what do you want ? ” urged the Count, 
whose gratitude was strongly moved. 


36 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


“ Nothing in the world,” answered the' old 
woman. “ I absolutely want nothing.” 

She too began to yield to the same influence 
which had exhilarated the Count, and became in 
her turn extremely communicative ; and as she 
passed her hand over her patched skirts she 
added : 

“ I look like a beggar, but if I pleased I could 
buy plenty of new clothes ; I -could have china 
and glass, and even silver. But I do not choose 
to let everybody know what I have in a certain 
corner of this little hut. No one knows now any- 
thing about it.” 

‘‘ What on earth are you talking about ? ” ex- 
claimed the Count with a hearty laugh. “ Have 
you money ? You had best not say so, my dear 
Cattel, for fear of robbers.” 

“ I only tell you of it, sir,” she answered, drop- 
ping her voice. “I have heaps of crowns and 
louis d’or.” 

“So much the better,” he answered, “for I 
do not like to see you make your supper off pota- 
toes and salt ; but now I feel at ease about you. 
But why do you stint yourself like this? Is it 
for your son Celestin ? ” 

“ Heaven help him ! ” she answered, the mere 
name seeming to anger her. “ That good-for- 
nothing has never given me the smallest satisfac- 
tion. I brought him up to be a smuggler like his 
grandfather, like his father, like all the Piolots in 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


37 


fact ; and you know how lie has turned out. He 
learned to read and write, he learned the trade of 
a locksmith, and went six years wandering through 
France. A nice thing to do, now wasn’t it ? and 
a pleasant little walk to take ! Of course he had 
met crowds of had people, and these companions 
will have completed the work, and caused him to 
lose all fear of God and to forget the respect he 
owes me. When I think of this vagabond and 
of all these things, I can’t sleep by night nor sit 
still in my chair by day.” 

“ Then don’t let us talk about him,” replied 
the Count philosophically, as, placing both elbows 
on the table, he began to hum a tune, interrupting 
himself only to reply in monosyllables to the 
somewhat free speech of Cattel, who filled and re- 
filled the wine glass and the cup. 

At last, when the bottles were both nearly 
empty, the Count said as he tried to rise : 

“ I should really like to know what sort of a 
night it is outside.” 

The old woman, who was considerably excited 
by what she had drunk, was yet steady on her 
feet, and went to the window. Looking out, she 
exclaimed : 

“ It is all fair again. I see the stars ; so much 
the worse ! So much the worse ! ” 

If I were at the cafe, I should know what 
time it is,” said the Count, entirely forgetting 
that he had his watch. Cattel reminded him of 


38 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


this fact by herself drawing it from his pocket 
and holding it before his eyes. 

‘‘ Ah ! ah ! ” he said, ‘‘ eleven o’clock already ! 
It is quite time I should be at home.” 

The old woman saw that he retained his bal- 
ance with great difficulty as he turned around to 
look for his hat. 

“ Listen,” she said ; “ the rain has made the 
turf very slippery, and I am going a little way 
with you.” 

“ No, no,” answered the Count, speaking thick- 
ly. I shall find the Brigadier, and we will walk 
along together. Good night, Cattel. Next time 
it will be my treat. Keep your bottles well 
locked. I shall be back to-morrow.” 

He staggered out of the house, and the fresh 
air roused him ; but his head was still affected 
and his brain much excited. A mad desire to talk 
and sing took possession of him, and he shouted 
disconnected sentences of long-forgotten drinking 
songs as he followed the shores of the little bay. 

All was quiet at the manor. Every one had 
retired except the Chevalier, who was reading in 
the salon, and a servant who had fallen asleep in 
the hall while awaiting his master. Suddenly the 
Chevalier laid down his book and listened to the 
voice that came in gusts of uproarious merriment 
from the shore below. He speedily recognized it 
for the Count’s, and soon understood what had 
happened. He shuddered with the fear that the 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


39 


noise would awaken the household. Immediately 
deciding on the course to pursue, he passed softly 
through the hall without disturbing the slumbers 
of the servant, and went out to open the gate 
himself.. 

Monsieur de Kerbsejean was leaning against 
the wall, still singing loudly. 

“ Be quiet, Jean,” said his uncle with restrained 
indignation — “ be quiet, and come in arid go to 
bed.” 

The Count laughed in a foolish sort of fash- 
ion, drew back a little, and began a new chorus. 
The Chevalier repeated what he had said, upon 
which the drunken man turned angrily and ex- 
claimed with a threatening gesture : 

“ Will you let me be, you old driveling fool ! ” 

‘‘ Come in, Kerbsejean ! ” said the Chevalier, 
with a look and a tone that had its effect even 
upon the bewildered mortal before him, who 
meekly obeyed, and, entering the house a little in 
front of his uncle, went to his room without ut- 
tering another syllable. 

The Chevalier waited until he heard his nephew 
lock his door, and then returned to the salon, 
where half an hour later he rang the bell to in- 
form the servant that his master had come in. 
The man had no suspicion of what had occurred, 
and the painful scene we have described remained 
a secret between the two Kerbse jeans. 


40 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


V. 

The Chevalier de Kerbsejean slept but little 
that night ; he passed the long hours in sad reflec- 
tion, his mind vexed by melancholy forebodings, 
and his heart fllled with hot indignation. The in- 
sult that had been offered him was of no con- 
sequence ; he was far above the possibility of 
being wounded by anything of the kind ; but he 
was angry because this forgetfulness of respect 
due to his uncle showed to what a pitch of degra- 
dation Irene’s father had fallen. 

As often happens, when one acquires positive 
proof of a fact long suspected, the good man de- 
duced from it exaggerated consequences, and made 
up his mind that the Count, weary of the con- 
straint he had imposed upon himself, would soon 
carry within the doors of his home the deplorable 
habits toward which his nature seemed to draw 
him with irresistible force. Self-respect, family 
union — all that makes the honor, the happiness, 
and the welfare of a home — seemed to him for 
ever gone ; and he asked himself what decided 
step he should now take to preserve the tranquillity 
of his few remaining years and Irene’s happiness. 

His restlessness induced him to rise at an un- 
usually early hour, and every one was asleep in 
the manor-house when he opened his window and 
leaned with both elbows on the stone balustrade 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


41 


where for forty years he had listened, both morn- 
ing and evening, to discover from which corner 
the wind blew, and the kind of weather it must 
be at sea. Almost at that moment some one 
knocked at the door of his chamber, and the 
Count appeared with a pale, sad face and eyes 
cast down. 

“ Uncle,” he said, humbly, “ I have come to 
make my apologies and to entreat you to pardon 
me for my conduct of last evening.” 

This spontaneous step immediately changed 
the Chevalier’s way of thinking. His apprehen- 
sions were dissipated ; his anger departed, and 
left in its place a certain indulgent pity. He held 
out his hand to his nephew and said simply : 

“ I have forgotten it.” 

The Count grasped his uncle’s hand affection- 
ately, saying with some agitation : 

“ If you allow, I will come and talk with you 
this evening.” 

“ And where are you going now ? ” asked the 
Chevalier, seeing that his nephew was in riding 
costume. 

‘‘ To Morlaix,” he replied laconically. 

The Chevalier easily understood that this day’s 
expedition was connected with some new resolu- 
tion or project, the details of which he should un- 
doubtedly hear that evening, and that until that 
hour all explanation could be deferred. 

“ Very well,” he said ; “we will then frankly 


42 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


discuss all tliese matters. But I do beg of you, 
Jean, not to be late in returning ; your daughter 
will be w'aiting for you. The poor child asks 
where you are every night, and is unwilling to re- 
tire until she has seen you.” 

. As he heard these last words, the Count’s face 
assumed a singular expression. 

“ Poor little thing ! ” he murmured. Then, 
turning on his heel, he ran down the stairs, and a 
moment later his horse was heard trotting down 
the avenue. 

In another hour Irene, with her wide-brimmed 
straw hat on her head and carrying a light basket, 
came, as was her custom, to entice her Uncle 
Pierre into the garden. Generally, he was quite 
willing to go, and walked up and down the paths 
reading his newspaper, while his niece visited her 
poultry-yard and fed her gold-fish with biscuit. 
But this morning his mind was so preoccupied 
that he forgot to open the ‘‘Journal,” and walked 
two or three times round the fiower-garden with- 
out paying any attention to the gay chatter of 
Ir^ne, who, sometimes running in front of him, 
sometimes hanging on his arm, pointed out to his 
observation an insect half hidden in a flower, some 
remarkable vegetable, or some magnificent fruit 
ripening on the wall. 

While they took their usual morning walk, 
the window of a room next to that of Madama 
Gervais was gently opened, and a pale face ap- 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


43 


peared ; it was Mimi, wlio had just risen. The 
evening before, on arriving at the manor, she had 
gone at once to the room that had been prepared 
for her, without opening her lips or looking about 
her. After having vainly tried to make her eat 
something, Madame Gervais hurried her to bed, 
fearing a new explosion of grief ; but the girl 
fell asleep at once, and passed an undisturbed 
night. The good governess went in and looked 
at her once or twice ; and, when she heard her 
moving in the morning, she opened the door and 
said kindly : 

“ Good-morning, my child. You are already 
di’essed, I see. When you have said your prayers 
you can come to my room.” 

“ Prayers ! Wliat prayers ? I do not know 
any,” replied Mimi. 

“ I will teach you one,” said Madame Gervais, 
with that true charity which nothing astonishes 
or repels. “ Kneel here by my side.” 

Natures like Mimi’s could never endure sorrow 
if it were not that their transports are as brief as 
they are violent. They are saved by the muta- 
bility of their impressions. The mountebank’s 
daughter experienced this relief at that very mo- 
ment, and passed at once from a state of terrible 
despair to a sort of indifferent tranquillity. These 
few hours of repose sufficed to restore the equi- 
librium of all her faculties. 

She did her best to repeat the morning prayers 


44 A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 

with Madame Gervais ; hut very soon, weary of 
remaining on her knees, she suddenly rose ^nd 
went to the window. 

“Would you like to go down into the gar- 
den ? ” asked Madame Gervais. 

“Yes, when there is no one there,” she an- 
swered. “I should like to walk alone in that 
garden.” 

“ And why alone ? ” 

“ Because I do not know that old gentleman 
and the young lady, and because,” she added with 
a sigh, “I like to be alone now that I am so 
sad ! ” 

“ Poor child ! ” murmured Madame Gervais 
compassionately. 

“ What will cure this ache here ? ” asked 
Mimi piteously pressing both hands on her breast. 

“ The good God, my child,” answered the 
pious governess. “Turn to Him, and He will 
listen to your prayers.” And as Mimi opened 
her eyes widely in astonishment, she added : “You 
do not understand me, I see; but example will 
teach you better than words, and you will soon 
learn what help the sick and sore-hearted find in 
labor and in prayer.” 

“ I do not know how to labor nor to pray,” 
the girl answered coldly. 

“ You will learn here, my poor child,” replied 
Madame Gervais in the firm, quiet way that was 
natural to her. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


45 


The little gypsy shook her head and did not 
speak. 

“ You ate nothing last night,” resumed the 
lady, glancing at the tray which stood untouched 
on the table. ‘‘ 'Now try and swallow something.” 

Mimi obeyed, and began to eat the bits of 
bread and butter upon the plate ; but at the first 
mouthful the recollection of the meal she had 
eaten with her father under the terrace returned 
to her, and she burst into tears. This time, how- 
ever, her material needs triumphed over her grief, 
and even while she wept she ate all that was on 
the table. After this small comfort she seated 
herself near the windows looking out on the gar- 
den until the Chevalier and Irdne entered the 
house. When she saw them no longer she crept 
down stairs and found her way to a quiet path 
nearly shut in by trees. All day long she lin- 
gered in this place. When Irene caught a glimpse 
of that desolate little figure, she was eager to go 
to her, but Madame Gervais checked her. 

“jN'o,” she said, “not yet. She is a poor, 
crushed creature, and you must give her a little 
time to rise under this blow ; and by-and-by she 
will be willing and able to receive some consola- 
tion.” 

It was eleven at night when the Count re- 
turned to the manor. His uncle, who had been 
looking for him from sundown, went to meet 
him, not without some fear of a renewal of the 


46 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


scene of tlie night before, but was reassured at 
the first glance. The Count’s face was calm, 
grave, and somewhat melancholy ; and for the 
time he looked almost like the handsome Kerbs 6-' 
jean of other days. 

‘‘ You wished to speak to me,” said the Cheva- 
lier, pressing his hand ; “ but we cannot talk in 
this way — you in your riding-coat and spurs. Let 
^ us wait until to-morrow. You must be in need of 
repose.” 

“Ko, excuse me,” answered Count Jean eager- 
ly. ‘‘ You never retire before midnight, and I 
am not in the least tired.” 

They entered the salon. 

“Your daughter went to her room an hour 
ago,” said the Chevalier as he closed the door, “ and 
we are alone. Kow, Jean, what have you to say 
tome?” 

“ It was you, uncle, who wished to speak ; let 
me listen first to you,” answered the Count defer- 
entially. 

The Chevalier hesitated a moment, like a per- 
son making up his mind to approach a .delicate 
subject, and then said in an affectionate tone : 

“ I have often thought, my dear nephew, that 
a man of your age, whose only companions are a 
- child and an old man, must feel his home very 
empty and his days very long. More than once, 
when I have seen your weariness and depression, 
I have felt inclined to urge you to leave us for 


A THOEOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 47 

several months — to go to Paris, where you would 
find it very easy to renew agreeable friendships. 
But you always fought so shy of the subject, and 
refused so peremptorily before I could explain my 
feelings, that — ” 

“ It is true, uncle ; and I have not the small- 
est inclination to return to the gay world and to 
society.” 

“ I know it I I know it ! ” sighed the Cheva- 
lier. 

“ And,” continued the Count, “ I am even as- 
tonished in these days that I could so long have 
submitted to the trammels which to-day I should 
find so irksome.” 

“ I have no intention of urging you to return 
to the world,” replied the Chevalier ; but I have 
thought seriously of a plan which might restore 
to you a portion of that happiness of which you 
were so early deprived.” 

And, as the Count gazed at him in amazement, 
the Chevalier added hastily : 

“ Tell me, Jean, have you never thought of 
marrying again ? ” 

‘‘ Never, uncle — never ! ” 

‘‘Well, then, I have for you. Do not shrink 
from this idea, I beg of you, but listen to me pa- 
tiently. Yes, more than once I have turned over 
in my mind a vague project of marrying you 
again; but to-day it has presented itself to me 
with redoubled force. It is hardly necessary for 


48 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENXE. 


me to say that the question of a stepmother for 
Ir^ne is one of the first importance, also the age, 
position, and fortune of the lady. The person 
whom I propose has all the qualities which can 
assure the happiness of a good man. You know 
her already ; she is in fact a connection of yours 
by marriage, and was here once on a visit.” 

“ Do you mean Mademoiselle de Kersalion ? ” 
murmured the Count. 

‘‘Precisely. You remember her pretty face 
and slight figure. She was always compared to a 
lily.” 

“ But that was fifteen years ago,” said the 
Count under his breath. 

“She is the only woman I know,” continued 
his uncle in an agitated voice, “ whom I consider 
worthy of replacing the wife you have lost. Our 
poor Amelie loved her very dearly; the same blood 
ran in their veins, and they were not unlike.” 

“ They were not, indeed, and it has always 
been a matter of surprise to me that so charming 
a woman has never married.” 

“ It has not been for lack of opportunity, but 
Madame de Kersalion always had a peculiar tal- 
ent for getting rid of suitors. The good lady has 
always been a very great invalid, and whenever 
an aspirant presented himself she would weeping- 
ly implore her daughter not to leave her for the 
few remaining days she had to live. Of course 
her daughter yielded to these wishes so strongly 


A THOROUGH BOHE.VIIENNE. 


49 


expressed, and for the last ten years her mother 
has kept her by the side of her couch.” 

“ Do these ladies live in Paris still ? ” 

“ No ; they remain all the yeai* now at their 
country place at Neuilly. Mademoiselle de Ker- 
salion has never been in society, one may say, and 
is quite reconciled to reside in this comparative 
solitude. From time to time I hear from them 
and write in return ; to my letters Irene generally 
adds a few lines, and Mademoiselle de Kersalion 
loves the child, and has expressed a strong desire 
to see her. If her mother’s infirmities allowed her 
to leave home, she would certainly have paid us 
a visit before this. I am quite sure of what I 
say ; besides, she told me so in her very last let- 
ter. Madame de Kersalion ought to understand 
that she has no time to lose if she wishes to marry 
her daughter. Taking all these things into consid- 
eration, I think, my dear Jean, that you have but 
to ask ; I am certain you will not be refused ! ” 

The Count shook his head, but did not speak. 

“ Madame de Kersalion, of course, would never 
be separated from her daughter,” continued the 
Chevalier ; but she could come here. When 
we three are no longer alone in this large room, 
when the family circle once more draws close 
around the fire, you, my poor Jean, will no longer 
go down to the shore to smoke your pipe, but 
will be as happy as you were once to remain with 
ns.” 


4 


60 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


The Count apparently had some difficulty in 
finding words to express himself, for he only an- 
swered by a gesture. 

“You refuse?” said the Chevalier with some 
surprise, but with no displeasure. “ Speak to me 
frankly, let me know what motives — ” 

“ I have no motives except little lack of incli- 
nation,” answered the Count abruptly. “ Look 
here, uncle. The past is past. I know perfectly 
well that I can never again be happy in the same 
way that I was once. Even were you to find a 
wife for me who was altogether as perfect as 
Amelie, she would not be Amelie, I should not be 
attracted by her, and I should not know what to 
do to please her.” 

“ You would prefer, perhaps, to marry some 
peasant girl ? ” said the Chevalier, coldly. 

“ I think it quite possible that I should suit a 
peasant girl better than a young lady,” he an- 
swered, humored by the satire j “ but I shall never 
marry any one.” 

“ You will continue to live this same life ! ’’ 
cried the Chevalier with considerable indignation. 

“No,” answered his nephew — “by no means. 
And this is precisely what I have come to tell 
you. I wish to break up all my old habits at once, 
which I can only do by going away. I am not of 
an investigating disposition, nor am I fond of new 
people and new places. In short, I should never 
travel for the sake of traveling. I must have 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIEXNE. 


51 


some special aim. This aim is now the interest 
of my family. I will go to Bombay and arrange the 
business which has given you so much anxiety and 
trouble. I will look out for everything, and shall 
find considerable occupation, I fancy. You will 
wait for me tranquilly at home, and when I re- 
turn it will then be time to think of marrying 
Ir5ne.» 

The Chevalier was utterly confounded, for 
nothing was further from his thoughts than this 
proposition. He had said to himself, to be sure, 
more than once, that at his nephew’s age he would 
gladly have made this voyage to the East Indies 
to augment his daughter’s dowry ; but it had 
never entered his mind to take the initiative and 
propose the plan, and still less to expect the Count 
to think of it himself. 

“ This, then, is the project at which you hint- 
ed,” he said at last. “ Have you been long think- 
ing of it?” 

‘‘ Yes, a long time,” answered the Count with 
some hesitation, for what he said was not true ; 
his resolution was not yet twenty -four hours 
old. 

‘‘It is a journey of three years, my dear Jean, 
and the project requires to be carefully weighed.” 

The Count declared that his determination was 
irrevocable. 

“ I went to Morlaix,” he continued, “to make 
all necessary inquiries ; here are the results,” and he 


52 


A THOROUGH BOAEMIENNE. 


drew a note-book from bis pocket. “ I shall prob- 
ably go to England and take a vessel there.” 

“ Do you mean to go immediately ? ” asked the 
Chevalier, somewhat disturbed. 

“ As soon as possible,” answered his nephew. 
“You have told me hundreds of times never to 
postpone matters.” 

“ But your absence will necessitate certain ar- 
rangements,” observed the Chevalier. “We have 
accounts to settle, and I should have a power of 
attorney for you.” 

“ The whole can be done in a day,” replied the 
Count. “ The day after to-morrow we will begin 
the preparation for my journey.” 

“Very well,” answered the Chevalier; “all 
shall be as you will, only say nothing to Ir^ne 
until the day you leave ; it is no use to make the 
child miserable in advance.” 

Although the Count was not gifted with re- 
markable penetration, he easily understood that 
his uncle was not so much distressed by his de- 
parture as by the tears it would cause Irene to 
shed. 

“ Be tranquil,” he answered sadly ; “ I will 
leave very quietly.” 

He rose as he spoke, and, with a glance at the 
clock, added : “ Midnight already ! Permit me 
to say good night to you, dear uncle.” 

“ I will light you to your room,” said the Che- 
valier, taking up a tall silver candlestick. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


53 


Before they left the salon, Monsieur Kerhs6jean 
stopped and looked long and seriously at a pic- 
ture of the Countess. 

‘‘ Should I never return,” he murmured, “ Irene 
will regret that my portrait does not hang by the 
side of her mother’s.” 

What is that you say ? ” exclaimed the Cheva- 
lier. ‘‘ Do not people always come back ? Besides, 
there is ample time to have your picture painted. 
You are not going to-morrow ! ” 

The two Kerbs6jeans spent the next day in at- 
tending to business. In the afternoon they talked 
together on the terrace, and after dinner the Count 
went out as usual. 

Two hours later, when it was quite dark, Cat- 
tel Piolot, standing on the threshold of her door, 
heard a noise like the rapid gallop of a horse far in 
the distance. When she could hear this sound no 
longer, she drew out a letter hidden in the folds 
of a fichu and said half aloud : ‘‘ Something ex- 
traordinary must be going on at the manor.” 

At that moment some one appeared on the lit- 
tle path leading up from the shore. 

“ Good evening, Crantin,” she called, recogniz- 
ing an old sailor, who almost every day smoked 
a half dozen pipes with the Count. “Are you 
coming from the cabaret so early as this ? What’s 
the news ? ” 

“I^one of any consequence,” he answered, 
stopping as he came to her gate. 


54 


A TIIOROUGn BOnEMIENNE. 


How is the Count ? ” resumed Cattel. “ Has 
he been walking with you to-day ? ” 

“ Kot to-day nor yesterday.” 

“ What is he doing, then ? ” 

‘‘ Well, just at this moment he is on horseback, 
and riding at full gallop,” said the old sailor ; “ for 
I saw him not ten minutes ago, well on the road 
to Morlaix.” 

. “ He is gone ! ” muttered the old woman. 
“Just what I thought ; and now I see why he 
bade me not deliver the letter until after dark. 
Holy Virgin ! what on earth will the Chevalier 
say ? ” 


VI. 

The Count had gone without saying farewell 
to his family. For several days the manor-house 
was very sad, but finally they determined to think 
only of the day when the traveler would return. 
Consequently their grief was checked before the 
Count had left the port from which he was to em- 
bark. 

As soon as the Chevalier was relieved of all 
anxieties, he had time to occupy himself in some 
degree with Mimi’s fate. The papers of the poor 
mountebank furnished ample indications by which 
they could find his relatives ; they also revealed the 
vicissitudes of his precarious existence. His story 
was a pitiful and common one enough. He was 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


55 


born in a little village in Languedoc, and was 
named Etienne Tirelon. Until the age of twenty- 
five he had been a barber, paying his taxes and 
license, and apparently established for life. One 
fine day he married, but, instead of taking an 
honest, simple country girl in his neighborhood, 
he took for his wife one of those traveling ac- 
tresses who play in the open air, in tents, and 
in inns. This grand personage could not make 
up her mind to wash the barber’s napkins and 
shaving-cups, but induced him almost immedi- 
ately to close his shop and relinquish his busi- 
ness. The two then started forth to wander 
about the country, exhibiting their talents and 
living from hand to mouth, 

Mimi came into the world on the side of the 
highway, and her mother died in one of those 
dens where travelers whose luggage is reduced to 
a few things tied in a handkerchief find refuge. 
After this last event £tienne Tirelon had a mo- 
mentary idea of returning to his native village 
and opening his shop again ; but the habits ac- 
quired during his nomadic life cut short this good 
inspiration. 

He carried in his journeyings his guitar under 
his arm and his little girl on his back. Fortunate- 
ly the child was of a healthy and vigorous consti- 
tution, and before long could toddle aftey her fa- 
ther on her stout little legs; and at four she danced 
and held out a tamborine to catch the sous 


56 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


dropped in by sympathetic spectators. Continual 
exercise developed her strength early ; she was 
as elastic and light as a cat, and her father would 
himself cry out in wonder at her agility and 
strength, ‘‘ Brava ! my bird — brava ! bravissima ! ” 
They had wandered in this way through France 
for years when the poor father died so sadly. 

The Chevalier wrote to an uncle of fitienne 
Tirelon to convey the sad intelligence, and to in- 
form him of Mimi’s destitute condition. This 
Uncle Tirelon was an old mechanic, who was 
called, and with considerable truth, the most hon- 
est man in the village. He was a widower and 
childless ; but in default of direct descendants he 
was surrounded by the whole Tirelon family, which 
was very numerous, and regarded him as its chief. 

It is only in the country, and far away from 
Paris, that the true mechanic or working class is to 
be met. The families of such, established in some 
little village, their trade descending from father 
to son, have the sensible notions, the humble vir- 
tues, the honorable sentiments and true dignity of 
character of which the example is set by the mid- 
dle classes around them. It follows, therefore, 
naturally, that the bourgeois who lives on his in- 
come, or who exercises a liberal profession, re- 
gards as his equal the artisan who subsists by his 
manual labor. Their relations are natural and 
acile, for the country-bred workingman has none 
f the effrontery or degrading habits of the Pari- 


A THOKOUGH BOIIEMIENNE. 


57 


pian ouvrier. Uncle Tirelon assembled a family 
council, and after considerable deliberation wrote 
to the Chevalier as follows : 

“ To THE Chevalier de Kerbsejean : 

“I wi’ite, in the name of the entire family, to 
thank you for the generosity with which you have 
assisted the child of my deceased nephew and 
godson, Etienne Tirelon. It was a time of great 
distress to us all when the young fellow, who up 
to that time had given us no cause for uneasiness, 
decided to marry as he did. He was a good fel- 
low in the main, but the great trouble with him 
was that he was too easily influenced and did not 
like work. His weakness of character was such 
that he married a girl at whom he ought not even 
to have looked ; and then his natural inclination 
was so strong that he went away from us, hoping 
to earn his bread without trouble or fatigue. Al- 
though he never wrote to us himself, we knew 
what he had become from certain people who liad 
seen him in Lyons, and we blushed to hear that 
he played his guitar and sang on the corners of 
the streets, picking up pennies like a beggar. Now 
that he is dead, it is of course our duty to pardon 
him, and we do so willingly, praying God at the 
same time to have mercy on his soul. 

‘‘As to the unfortunate little girl he left in 
this world, our intention is to do for her to the 
very best of our ability ; but it is impossible for 


58 


A TIIOROUGH BOIIEMIENNE. 


us to receive her into any one of our families. 
We have several reasons for this decision. The 
first is that we could never forget the mother who 
brought her into the world, and this remembrance 
would harden our hearts ; and when she grew up, 
this stain — for stain it is — would prevent us from 
finding some nice young fellov/ for her to marry. 
She, of course, could not be happy with us when 
she found herself despised and suspected. I ask 
as the greatest possible favor, therefore, sir, that 
you will finish the good work you have begun, 
and that you will take upon yourself the task of 
arranging the earthly lot of this poor creature. 
With your protection, she can find a home among 
people of our position in life, who, knowing no- 
thing of her parents, will love her for herself if 
she conducts herself well and is lovable ; who 
will teach her, moreover, to earn her bread honor- 
ably. The family will pay all the necessary ex- 
penses, for we do not wish her to be a burden to 
any one. After having taken the liberty to make 
you understand our views, and had the boldness 
to ask so great a favor, I can only end, noble sir, 
by assuring you of the very great respect of 
“Your very humble servant, 

“Jean [IStienne Tieelon.” 

The Chevalier sent for Madame Gervais, and, 
showing her this letter, asked her advice. 

“ The man is quite right,” said this most sen- 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


59 


sible woman. “Poor little Mimi would not be 
happy among these relatives, because there is no- 
thing in her with which they could sympathize. 
She would shock them at every turn.” 

“ The wandering life she has led was not, I 
fear, calculated to elevate her character.” 

“ She is as pure as a new-born babe,” inter- 
rupted Madame Gervais eagerly. “ Totally with- 
out religious training, and utterly uneducated, she 
has at least preserved her maidenly purity of 
thought.” 

“ I do not precisely see to whom we can con- 
fide the child,” resumed the puzzled Chevalier ; 
“there is not a person here. We must apprentice 
her at Morlaix.” 

•Madame Gervais shook her head. “ She would 
not stay there one week,” she said. “ They would 
send her back here, because she is utterly inca- 
pable of assiduous application. Since you permit 
me to give you my advice, I am inclined to coun- 
sel you to keep her here. We will try and teach 
her. Irene would be overjoyed at the idea, and 
at having some new interest ; for her father’s de- 
parture will long weigh heavily on her heart, 
Mimi will amuse her, and — ” 

“ She will certainly have a most singular demoi- 
selle de compagnie^'* inteiTupted the Chevalier, 
with a smile. “ Never mind, I think you are quite 
right. The child’s life will be, I fancy, pleas- 
anter here than anywhere else. You will teach 


60 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE 


her to be something — a seamstress, chambermaid, 
or whatever you see fit. Anything would be bet- 
ter for her than the life she led with her father.” 

And thus it came to pass that Mimi Tirelon 
remained under the Kerbs6 jeans’ roof. 

Good Madame Gervais at once applied herself 
to the duty of educating that ignorant, untutored 
nature. She pursued the task with the ardor of a 
truly charitable soul, and in the beginning her 
labors were not without success. 

Mimi had a sort of eager intelligence, which 
rendered her, in spite of her excessive indolence, 
susceptible of instruction. She learned to read 
with wonderful quickness, and at the end of a 
few months could even wi’ite a passable letter ; 
but there her progress stopped. Her language 
and manners were also dignified ; she imitated un- 
consciously the persons by whom she was sur- 
rounded, and it would have been difficult to dis- 
cover the street-dancer in this young girl, with 
her modest, reserved bearing and measured speech. 
Nevertheless, she had by no means changed as 
much as her exterior would lead one to suppose ; 
the penetrating Madame Gervais knew this, and 
sometimes said with a sigh to the Chevalier : 

“ This child has nothing in her heart or in her 
mind. I honestly believes she loves nothing in 
the world, not even Ir^ne, who is so good to her. 
I doubt if she has ever had one serious thought 
of the next world ; and, when she prays to God 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


61 


Almighty, she prays with her lips only. She is 
by no means lacking in intelligence, and yet it is 
irksome to her to open a book ; nor does she like 
any manual labor whatever. Were she abandoned 
to her own devices I can’t imagine how she would 
employ her days.” 

‘‘In doing nothing,” replied the Chevalier, 
philosophically. “ She is as indolent as a snake. 
How could you expect anything else? She is 
naturally lazy, and has never done anything in 
her life but wander along the streets and high- 
ways. You have undertaken to reform both her 
natural and acquired habits. You have a hard 
task before you, my dear Madame Gervais.” 

“That is true,” she answered with a placid 
smile ; “ but, if it were never difficult to do good, 
where would the merit be in our exertions ? ” 

Mimi never uttered her father’s name, nor did 
she speak even indirectly of her early years. One 
would have said that her existence dated from the 
day when she entered the Kerbs6jean mansion. 
Her face had acquired a totally new expression. 
She was serious, cold, and almost impassible ; and 
more extraordinary still was the fact that nothing 
in her bearing would have led one to suspect the 
muscular strength and elasticity which was in a 
great degree her birthright, and which had been 
carefully cultivated by her education. This girl, 
who had passed her childhood in athletic exercise, 
now walked slowly and indolently as if easily 


62 


A THOROUGn BOHEMIENNE. 


fatigued. When they were walking, Ir^ne would 
lightly skip over the stones in a deep brook, and 
when on the other side would turn and call Mimi. 
But Mimi would not make the faintest attempt to 
follow her, but would go with the Chevalier se- 
dately on until they reached the plank with the 
hand-rail, preferring thus to avoid the obstacle 
she could leap at a single bound. It was easy to 
see that all this was part of a deliberate course 
of action, and not a matter of preference. Mimi 
profited by hours when she was alone to stretch 
her muscles ; for a curious servant had seen her 
through the keyhole pirouetting in the salon, and 
flourishing the Chevalier’s cane about her head. 

Mademoiselle de Kerbs4jean had not for Mimi 
that tender friendship and earnest affection which 
can not exist without a certain similarity of edu- 
cation and character. She made of her neither 
her companion nor her friend ; and yet she loved 
her — loved her from habit, and possibly, too, be- 
cause there was no other person near her of her 
own age. Mimi was rarely with her when she 
v/orked at her embroidery, but they were together 
always in the garden ; and almost every day the 
Chevalier took them both to walk with him. A 
certain sort of intimacy was naturally born of this 
companionship. Ir^ne addressed Mimi with the 
familiar French “ thou,” and Mimi did not always 
remember to address her as Mademoiselle ; and 
she always announced her opinions on any and all 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIEXNE. 


G3 


subjects with the most absolute independence. In 
fact, very often it was Irene who deferred to Mimi 
in their little differences ; for a certain generous 
instinct made her very careful not to wound the 
girl’s feelings. 

The Chevalier had no especial liking for his 
protegee. She had precisely the faults of which 
he was least tolerant ; not that he ever regretted 
the hospitality he had extended, or ceased to think 
that he would increase the small dowry that he 
hoped to obtain for her from Uncle Tirelon. 

Although life at the manor was singularly 
monotonous and secluded, it was not wearisome 
or stupid. The arrival of a letter by the India 
mail was a great event, looked forward to for two 
or three months, and when it came caused an in- 
expressible joy. The Count’s letters were brief, 
the sterility of his mind being more evident in 
his letters than in his conversation ; but the letters 
were none the less extremely welcome. Irene’s 
eyes filled with tender tears as she read them, and 
the Chevalier had sudden spasms of affection for 
his nephew. 

The traveler was doing wonders in disentan- 
gling the troublesome matters in regard to which 
he took this journey ; he was recovering the money 
which was supposed to be lost ; his health had not 
suffered in the slightest degree from the climate 
of India. He regretted Brittany, however, and, 
without fixing any date, spoke in each letter of 
his return. 


64 


A THOROUGPI BOHEMIENNE. 


VII. 

Ye AES slipped away with insensible rapidity, 
when one fine morning the Chevalier announced, 
with almanac in hand, that it was precisely four 
years since the departure of his nephew. 

That day Irene came down rather earlier than 
usual ; and, as she kissed her uncle tenderly, he 
was struck by her manner. 

“ Have you received a letter ? ” he asked. 

“No, dear uncle,” answered the girl; “but 
last year on this anniversary I was very sad when 
I woke, but to-day I am so happy that I feel sure 
that my father will be at home within the year.” 

“I had the same notion myself,” replied the 
Chevalier. 

“ Ah ! ” said Irene, “ yet a little longer and he 
will be here ! He will occupy his vacant chair, 
and I shall sit between you always — ! ” 

“ Always ! ” repeated the Chevalier, with a 
melancholy smile. “ Child, I am growing old.” 

“ No, no ! ” cried Ir^nei, struck to the heart by 
this reflection and looking at him with tears in 
her eyes. He kissed her fair brow and led her 
down to the garden. She in a few minutes was 
as happy as ever, but he was a little thoughtful 
and sad, as if some vague apprehension marred 
his hopes. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


65 


The same day the Chevalier said as he rose 
from the breakfast table : 

“ Dear child, we have a visit to make — a visit 
of charity. They came to tell me last night that 
Cattel Piolot is very ill.” 

“Let us go at once, dear uncle ; we can carry 
her some trifles which she probably would not 
have in her house.” 

“ Will you take Mimi ? ” asked the Chevalier. 

“Mimi? Oh no. The poor child has never 
been inside that house since the day she left it. 
If she should ever go there again, it would bring 
all the past back to her.” 

“ Do you think, then, that it made such a 
powerful impression ? ” 

“ Do I think so ? Oh ! dear uncle, I am cer- 
tain of it. I can see her now. You surely re- 
member her despair when we first saw her — her 
tears and screams.” 

“I remember it, of course,” answered the 
Ohevalier ; “ and, now that I know her, I am as- 
tonished she took the . trouble to weep for her 
father.” 

On reaching Cattel Piolot’s door, the Chev- 
alier and his niece heard the sound of voices 
within ; but all became silent as soon as they 
lifted the iron knocker. A neighbor opened the 
door. 

“ Ah ! ” she exclaimed, “ the good Lord sent 
you here ! ” And then in a low voice she added : 
5 


66 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIEXNE. 


“ Perhaps you can soften her heart ; perhaps she 
will listen to you.” 

“ Who is there ? ” said the sick woman from 
the inclosed bed. 

It is I, dear Cattel,” answered Ir^ne, going 
toward her. “ It is so long since we saw you at 
the manor that my uncle and I thought we would 
come this morning and see how you are, and 
what had prevented your coming to the manor.” 

The old woman lifted herself a little from the 
bag stuffed with straw that did duty as a pillow, 
and replied in a hoarse voice : 

“ It is a great joy and a great honor to see you 
here. Ah ! the Kerbse jeans never forget the poor. 
They are sure to appear when there is trouble. I 
am very feverish, dear young lady— very feverish; 
and my throat is as parched and burnt as if I had 
swallowed nothing for a fortnight.” Then, seeing 
Irene take out the contents of her basket, she 
added : And did you bring me those sweetmeats 
and all those nice things ? You are as good as 
an angel. But my throat aches.” 

“Do not fatigue yourself by talking,” said 
Ir^ne, seating herself near the bed. “You are 
going to have cool lemonade made — ” 

“ There must be some brandy put in,” inter- 
rupted Cattel Piolot. “ You did not bring any, 
but never mind — I have some here, put away care- 
fully. Come close, and I will tell you where.” 

“What more can I do for you,” said Irene 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


67 


kindly, paying no attention to those last words of 
the sick woman, regarding them as a mere whim. 
“ Have you sheets enough ? ” 

This question evidently wounded Cattel Pio- 
lot’s pride. On the bed there was one tattered 
sheet and a lambskin, and Cattel hastily answered : 

‘‘ Sheets enough ! Why, I have bales and bales 
of linen, and just as much English cotton, to say 
nothing of whole pieces of nainsook, and dimity, 
and India percale.” She stopped in the midst 
of this long list of names, glanced nervously 
at the door, and continued in a whisper : “ But 
we must not talk about that now ; for I am tied 
down to my bed, and am no longer mistress. But 
I shall be up again soon, and I will show you 
some things then which will astonish you a little, 
I fancy. I am not very sick after all. Eh ! eh ! 
He who counts on dead men’s shoes is likely to 
go barefooted all his life.” 

At that moment the Chevalier, who had waited 
outside, came in to say a word to the sick woman. 

‘‘ I congratulate you, Cattel Piolot,” he said. 

It must be a great comfort to you to have your 
grandson at home again.” 

She looked at him in astonishment, and then 
exclaimed, Good Heavens ! yes, that vagabond 
has returned. I never prayed God to send me 
that comfort, I assure you ! and when he entered 
this morning I felt as if I had received my death- 
stroke.” 


68 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


‘‘ And wliy, pray ? ” asked the Chevalier calmly. 

“ Because I saw at a glance that he was steeped 
in vices of all kinds,” she answered violently. “ I 
was not in the least mistaken when I predicted 
that he would fall into utter degradation ! He 
wears a coat, sir — a coat of fine blue cloth — and a ‘ 
silk vest ! And has boots on his feet just like 
any lord, if you will believe me, sir ! ” 

“Would you prefer to see him return in rags ? ” 
asked the Chevalier with a smile. 

“ But that is not all ! ” she continued with 
growing exasperation. “ He has a mustache. A 
mustache ! He, a Piolot, with a mustache ! and 
without one sous in his pocket — with nothing but 
what he has on his back.” . 

“ He is still young enough to settle down and 
make money,” said the Chevalier in a concili- 
ating tone. “ Be indulgent toward him, Cattel. 
When you were young, you spent what you , 
earned.” 

“ N'ever ! ” she cried energetically — “ no, 
never ! ” 

“ Then you must have saved heaps of money,” 
said Irene naively. 

“ A few sous, mademoiselle — only a few sous,” 
murmured the old woman. “ I tell you this be- 
cause I know you will not betray me. But do 
not tell any one.” 

“ Your grandson has not returned to rob you, 
nor to mount guard over his inheritance,” re- 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


69 


sumed the Chevalier, “ be sure of that ; for he 
believes, like everybody else, that you are very 
poor.” 

He is right ; I am very poor,” she cried in 
a loud voice. 

“ Precisely,” continued the Chevalier ; con- 
sequently Celestin means to work for you both. 
There is a good deal to be done at the manor ; I 
will employ him, and he will earn his three or 
four francs each day.” 

“ A crown and more ! ” exclaimed Cattel Pio- 
lot, suddenly appeased. “Well ! that makes me 
feel much better.” 

“ He will cost you v«ry little,” continued the 
Chevalier, “ and will on the contrary aid you in 
a great many ways. So pray do not treat him so 
unkindly as you did this morning. He is in the 
little outside room, and very unhappy. Do you 
not wish him to come to you ? ” 

“Hot until he has taken off his fine coat. 
After he went away I locked up his clothes — good 
clothes, well patched and mended. He can put. 
those on.” 

“ Put those on,” repeated the Chevalier. “ You 
seem to forget that he has grown a full head, and 
is broader in proportion.” 

“Then his clothes would be too tight,” ex- 
claimed Cattel ; “ he must not try to get into 
them : he would tear them all to pieces. I can 
find something he can wear — a jacket of his grand- 


70 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


father’s, who was a stout man, you remember. 
If I could only get up, I could find plenty for 
him.” 

As she spoke she tried to sit up and to strug- 
gle off the bed, for she had lain down all dressed ; 
but Irene covered her up and insisted on her re- 
maining quiet. 

“ No, Cattel,” she said ; “ do not fatigue your- 
self. I assure you, if you are imprudent now, 
you will make yourself seriously ill.” 

“But I must hunt up that jacket,” she an- 
swered excitedly ; “ and I do not choose to have 
Celestin prowling round among my boxes. I have 
not the smallest confidence in him.” 

“ Have you any confidence in me ? ” said 
Ir^ne with a smile. 

“ Holy Virgin ! what a question ! ” 

“ Well, then, let me look for what you want. 
Where is the jacket ? ” 

“You must first send every one out of the 
room and lock the door,” whispered Cattel. 

Ir^ne summoned the good neighbor who was 
sitting at the other side of the room and gave 
her some trifiing commission to execute, and the 
Chevalier himself locked the door after her. 

“ Am I to look here ? ” asked Irene, going 
toward the armoire. 

Cattel shook her head and pointed to the dark- 
est corner of the room. 

“You will find a door there — a door without 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 71 

lock or hinges : it opens with a sliding panel and 
a spring.” 

Ir^ne looked closely at the woodwork, and 
then without the smallest hesitation pressed her 
finger on a brass-headed nail. 

“ Good heavens ! Did you find it so easily as 
that ? ” said the old woman with an uneasy start. 

“Don’t be troubled,” answered Irdne. “I 
might have searched for hours if we did not have 
at the manor a hiding-place that opened in the 
same way, which goes to prove, my dear Cattel, 
that the same workman built your house and 
ours.” 

She touched the spring as she spoke, and the 
oak plank slowly moved and showed the entrance 
to a dark recess, long and deep, at the extreme 
end of which was a faint streak of light as if 
from a ventilator. 

“ The jacketought to he in a box down there,” 
said Cattel, raising herself on her elbow ; “ I had 
it in my hands not two weeks since.” 

Ir^ne pushed her way cautiously through a. 
confused pile of boxes and bales of merchandise, 
which exhaled that faint mysterious perfume pe- 
culiar to things that come over the sea and from 
the East. Many generations of smugglers must 
have contributed to the foundations of this mass, 
for there were stuffs there which had not seen the 
light for a hundred years. 

The box which Cattel had designated was one 


72 A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNK 

of those quaint inlaid boxes of rare wood which 
come from South America, and had probably been 
on hoard some Spanish or Portuguese ship that 
had been wrecked on this dangerous coast, and 
some of the Piolots had rescued it from the waves, 
Ir^ne turned the silver key that was in the lock, 
lifted the cover, and began her search. The best 
clothes of the defunct Piolot were carefully folded, 
while his hat seemed to be his wife’s savings bank, 
for it was full of crowns and louis d’or. Made- 
moiselle de Kerbsejean glanced at this little trea- 
sure, and, taking the jacket, hastened back to 
Cattel. 

The old woman had fallen back exhausted 
upon her pillow. She put out her hand to take 
the jacket, saying, with an anxious look toward 
the recess, ‘‘ Dear lady, shut it well ; for you 
know — ” 

“ Do not be troubled,” answered Irene ; it is 
all right, and no one can find it. Now shall we 
call your grandson ? ” 

“ Not yet, not yet,” she murmured, closing her 
eyes. 

Mademoiselle Kerbsejean did not insist. She 
took a seat near the bed and began to hem a 
new fichu that she had bought to replace the mis= 
erable cotton rag that Cattel usually wore over 
her shoulders. 

The Chevalier began to speak to the woman 
again of her duty toward her grandson ; but, see- 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 73 

ing her look so ill, he drew the curtain of the bed, 
hoping that she would fall asleep, and took a chair 
by the side of his niece. They were talking to- 
gether in whispers when Celestin Piolot softly 
opened the door. Irene instantly recognized this 
tall fellow, whom she had seen every day of his 
life when she was a child ; he had often brought 
her shells. She nodded to him in a friendly way, 
and made a sign that his grandmother was asleep. 
He did not dare to cross the threshold, but stood 
leaning against the frame, looking at Mademoiselle 
Kerbsejean with great astonishment, for he had 
no idea who she was. 

Mne understood his hesitation. She rose, 
and, shaking out the folds of her crisp pink cam- 
bric dress, went toward him. 

“ How do you do, Celestin ? ” she said in the 
sweet Breton patois and with kind familiarity. ‘‘ I 
see that you do not recognize the young lady who 
wished to give you her dolls in exchange for the 
pretty pebbles you brought to her.” • 

Celestin Piolot blushed to the tips of his ears, 
and passed his hand through his hair as if to gain 
time. 

“ Pardon me,” he said in French ; I did not 
recall you at first, but I now remember you per- 
fectly. Mademoiselle, how do you do ? ” 

‘‘ I am very well,” she answered, repressing a 
smile. 

‘‘ I am very glad,” he replied solemnly. 


74 A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 

‘‘ W ould to heaven that all the world was as 
well as myself ! ” resumed Irene. “ Poor Cattel 
seems to be very ill.” 

“ I thought her grown much older,” said Celes- 
tin. 

‘‘You have come back just in time to take 
care of her,” continued the young lady. “I know 
that she did not receive you very cordially, but my 
uncle has spoken to her on the subject, and when 
she is better he will say something more ; and I 
am convinced that she will do differently.” 

“ She is a terrible woman,” said the young 
mechanic ; “ she has such strange ideas, some- 
times, that I think she can’t be quite right in her 
head.” 

“Be gentle with her, and submissive, and all 
will go smoothly,” answered Irene, seeing that he 
wore a blouse instead of the blue coat which Cat- 
tel Piolot had found so objectionable. “ Come in 
softly and take a chair by her bed. When she 
wakes my uncle will say a few words to her, and 
then you can speak.” 

C^lestin hesitated. 

“She received me with insults,” he answered, 
“ though heaven only knows why — I do not. I 
have no intention of asking anything of her. I 
know she is poor, and I expect nothing but kind 
words ; but, as she does not choose to give me 
these, I think I had best take myself off again 
this very day.” 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


75 


‘‘No, do not do that,” interposed Ir^ne hastily. 
“ Believe me when I say that you will never re- 
pent having remained with your grandmother. 
Do not leave her ; your duty is here as well as 
your interest.” 

He yielded to this advice, expressed with im- 
perious kindness, and took a seat in a corner 
where the sick woman could not see him. Ir5ne 
resumed her work and her talk with her uncle. 
Occasionally she looked at Celestin, and he un- 
derstood that they were speaking of him. 

“ Cattel ought to be proud of that young fel- 
low,” said the Chevalier ; “ he is really a very . 
handsome man ! ” 

“He looks like the figure representing King 
Murat, that we once saw at the fair,” said Ir5ne 
with childish artlessness. 

“ He has some education too, I fancy ; for 
while I was talking to him down stairs I saw the 
corner of a book sticking out of his knapsack.” 

Here the sick woman stirred, and instantly 
Ir5ne and her uncle were at her side. 

“Well, Cattel, how do you feel now? ” asked 
the Chevalier. 

“ Better ! thanks be to God,” she answered. 

“ To-morrow I shall be on my feet again per- 
haps.” 

“ We hope so, but in the mean time keep both 
mind and body very quiet.” 

“ Here is some one who is anxious to serve you 


76 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


and to relieve you of every care,” added Ir5ne. 
“ Do you not wish to see your grandson ? ” 

Cattel Piolot shook her head. The Chevalier 
beckoned to Celestin, who obeyed and stood by 
his grandmother’s side. He exhibited much feel- 
ing, and leaning over her took her hand. She 
turned her glazed eyes upon him. 

“ Can it be,” she said, speaking with difficulty, 
“ that this fine gentleman is really the son of my 
poor boy Corentin Piolot. His mustache changes 
him so much that I — ” 

She made him a sign to withdraw, and turned 
away her head. 

“ My good lad,” said the Chevalier, looking at 
C41estin’s mustache and full black beard, ‘‘your 
grandmother will never kiss you until you have 
shaved.” 

“ And she will be much pleased,” added Ir^ne 
gently. “ Go quick ! ” 

When he had departed the sick woman opened 
her eyes and feebly stretched out her arm. 

“Where is the jacket?” she said. “How 
that he has a blouse, it is not worth while giving 
him the jacket.” 

Mademoiselle de Kerbsejean and her uncle ex- 
changed a look. It seemed to them that the old 
woman was so clear-headed that she would prob- 
ably be stirring about the next day. 

“ What is that ? ” she asked as Irene laid the 
new fichu on the ragged bed coverings. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENXE. 


77 


“ It is a fichu to put over your shoulders when 
you are up again.” 

“ Thanks ; hut it is too fine for me,” she mur- 
mured, touching the stuff with the tips of her 
bony fingers. 

The Chevalier rose. “ You are better already, 
my good Cattel. Keep up your courage, and you 
will be all right in a few days.” 

“ Good-by, Cattel,” added Ir^ne, as she tied 
the ribbons of her dainty straw hat. “We will 
come again to see you to-morrow.” 

“ To-morrow early,” said the Chevalier ; “ and 
I shall be very glad to find your grandson taking 
care of you.” 

As soon as they were gone Cattel Piolot stag- 
gered to her feet with the jacket in her hand, de- 
termined to put it back in its hiding-place, and 
with it her new fichu. She dragged herself to 
the other end of the room, and succeeded in open- 
ing the recess; but at that moment she was seized 
with a great dizziness and fell unconscious on the 
floor. 

When Celestin came in fifteen minutes later, 
he saw his grandmother stretched out motion- 
less with her face on the ground. The boy 
called for help and ran to lift her. She was still 
breathing ; her pale lips opened, and she mur- 
mured some incoherent words. Celestin thought 
she was better ; but as he raised her in his arms 
she died. 


78 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


VIII. 

Celestin Piolot was the sole heir of his 
grandmother. She left him about twelve thousand 
francs in good solid money, and the old house, 
with its quaint hits of furniture dating from the 
time of the Dukes of Brittany, and its garden, 
which had never been spaded within the memory 
of man, and had become a tiny wilderness over- 
grown by burdocks and couch-grass. This small 
fortune dazzled the young mechanic. Like all 
persons accustomed to live from hand to mouth, 
he overrated the value of money, and these pieces 
of silver and gold seemed to him an inexhausti- 
ble mine of wealth. He installed himself in his 
house, making no alterations in its interior, and 
retained in his service the good woman who had 
nursed Cattel Piolot during her brief illness. This 
housekeeper, if so she may be called, was the 
widow of one of the coast-guards. She had trav- 
eled a little, and could speak French. She now 
lived in clover, for taking care of the house and 
cooking Celestin’s simple dinner was a very small 
matter ; and she was able to spend the greater 
part of the afternoons in her dear delight of run- 
ning from house to house with her knitting. 

In the beginning of the new order of things, 
Celestin Piolot had manifested a certain dislike to 
the society of the people about him. He had not 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


79 


once been seen at the cafe, he never invited a 
human being within his doors, and went out in 
the evening merely to take a solitary walk on the 
shore. As the report got about that Cattel Pio- 
lot had left heaps of money, the good people in 
the neighborhood were extremely interested in all 
that her heir did or did not do ; and they gladly 
encouraged Magni, the old servant, to talk. She 
did not require much urging to tell all she knew 
about her young master. 

“It is difficult to describe Celestin,” as she 
familiarly called him. “ He is not exactly simple, 
and neither is he very wise. He does not care to 
talk. All day long he roams round the house, or 
lies under the pear-tree in the garden and stares 
at the clouds. Occasionally he reads a little ; but 
as to doing anything with his hands, why, it is 
as if he had none. He would see the very roof 
fall down on his head rather than drive a nail to 
keep it up. His taste leads him to take care of 
his person. Every morning he takes a bath and 
brushes his hair like a lord, and his clothes are 
always clean. But it is for himself alone that he 
takes all these pains, for he only goes out in the 
evening, and then merely to the shore. I have 
noticed, moreover, that he goes a good bit out of 
his way to avoid passing the coast-guard station. 
You see he does not care to encounter all the 
people who are always to be seen there. If by 
chance he meets any one who says ‘ good evening,’ 


80 


A THOROTIGH BOHEMIENNE. 


don’t imagine that he returns it ! By no means ; 
he just touches his hat, and goes on as proud as 
if he were a Kerbs 4 jean.” 

• The Chevalier scrupulously fulfilled all social 
duties toward his humblest neighbors ; and the 
week after the funeral he came as a matter of 
course to offer his condolences to Cattel Piolot’s 
grandson. Some time after this the young work- 
man presented himself at the manor house to re- 
turn that visit. It was in the afternoon ; the gay 
June sun darted its rays obliquely through the 
level slats of the green blinds. The room was 
fresh and cool. The Chevalier, sitting in. his large 
arm-chair, was reading aloud from a book of tra- 
vels in the East Indies, while his niece, leaning 
over her embroidery frame, listened with silent 
attention. A little apart Madame Gervais, with 
a large basket of colored wools on her knees, was 
selecting the shades for a bunch of roses which 
Irene was embroidering, and then winding them 
into balls ; while Mimi, before her, with the skeins 
on her extended arms, stood in a listless attitude, 
with her head- turned away, and her eyes fixed on 
the distant sea. 

A charming picture might have been made 
with the figures thus grouped, and each taken 
separately would have been a good model for ah 
artist. The Chevalier’s head would have made an 
admirable study, his well-cut features and stately 
form giving him the air of one of Corneille’s 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


81 


cbaractors ; while Madame Gervais, in her black 
dress and white linen sleeves and collar, was a 
good representation of the pious ladies of the fif- 
teenth century. Irene’s remarkable beauty, her 
tall slender figure, and chestnut hair with its 
sunny lights, suggested the days of chivalry. 
Such had been the ladies of King Arthur’s court, 
the blonde queen Genevra and the white-handed 
Iseult. At the first glance this radiant beauty 
threw into shadow Mimi’s pale, dark face ; but 
after a while one discovered that the mountebank’s 
daughter had superb eyes, large and of velvety 
softness, beautiful features, an exquisite mouth, 
and a well-moulded figure. The simple costume 
she always wore was admirably suited to her 
quiet face ; and just now she was very charming 
in a violet dress with her white fichu and a black 
ribbon tying her luxuriant hair. 

Ah ! ” she suddenly exclaimed, as she caught 
sight of Celestin ringing at the gate ; “ there is 
Cattel Piolot’s grandson.” 

“ Do you know him ? ” asked Ir^ne in surprise. 

Of course,” was the reply ; “ I saw him one 
evening when he was walking ; he bowed to Ma- 
dame Gervais, who was on the terrace. I know 
him very well, although he is dressed so finely to- 
day.” 

“ He is in mourning, Mimi ; you do not call 
that fine, do you ? ” said the governess in a tone 
of grave reproof. 


82 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


“ He is all in black,” continued the girl heed- 
lessly, “ with a beautiful white cravat like Mon- 
sieur Songemain, the notary, when he comes to pay 
his visit on Hew Year’s day.” 

The Chevalier took oH his spectacles, and 
closed his book. In a moment more C61estin ap- 
peared. He advanced rapidly to the center of the 
room, took off his hat, which he had carefully 
avoided leaving in the anteroom, and bowed pro- 
foundly like an actor in one of the Porte Saint- 
Martin dramas. The poor boy had frequented the 
theatres, and supposed he was doing quite the 
proper thing, and that it was thus that people in 
the best society entered a drawing-room. 

‘‘ Take a chair, my dear Piolot,” said the Che- 
valier, half rising and designating a fauteuil by 
his side. “I am chai-med to see you.” 

Celestin had made a great effort to execute his 
entree ; buf after that first step was accomplished, 
which to be sure was the most difficult, his cour- 
age and assm'ance suddenly took wings ; he 
tripped against a piece of furniture, and found 
himself as he recovered his balance in front of the 
embroidery frame, which he almost threw down 
as he turned. 

“ Good morning, Celestin,” said Mademoiselle 
de Kerbsejean, suppressing a smile. “ I begged 
my uncle to say to you how sincerely I sympa- 
thized with you in your affiiction. You are well, 
I trust ? ” 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


83 


‘‘Perfectly well, Mademoiselle,” lie answered 
in a strangled voice, as he tried to find his way out 
of the triangle formed by the governess and the 
two young girls. 

“ Sit down, my hoy, sit dow ! ” repeated the 
Chevalier, moved by compassion for the youth’s 
embarrassment. “ It is very warm out to-day, is 
it not?” 

“Very warm,” he replied, still in the same 
tone, as he finally made up his mind to pass be- 
fore Madame Gervais to reach the chair that had 
been pointed out to him. In doing so, however, 
he carried off on the buttons of his coat the skein 
of wool the governess was winding. Celestin en- 
deavored to disentangle it, and finally seated him- 
self with it in his fingers, a melancholy picture of 
blushes and confusion. 

“ Never mind,” said Irene, stooping to find the 
ball that had rolled toward her feet ; “ but speak 
to this little simpleton, who amuses herself by 
barring people’s path with pink wool ! ” 

Mimi was laughing immoderately, without 
paying the smallest heed to the signs the gover- 
ness made, or to the annoyance of the Chevalier. 
When she in some degree had recovered her com- 
posure, she walked directly to the young man, and 
standing in front of him she said, as she held out 
her wrists — 

“ Have the kindness, sir, to give me the wool.” 

“ Most willingly,” he stammered, extending the 


84 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


skein. She, however, shook her head impatient- 
ly, with a little gesture implying that he must 
reestablish things in the state he had found them. 
When at last he awkwardly obeyed, she made 
him a profound curtsey, then crossed the room, 
and took her stand again before Madame Ger- 
vais. 

“ IJpon my life ! ” murmured the Chevalier, 
“ she is not troubled by timidity.” 

Celestin by this time was more at his ease, and 
the Chevalier encouraged him by his kind famili- 
arity. 

‘‘ Now,” he said, that you have received your 
grandmother’s little fortune, you intend, I pre- 
sume, to establish yourself here ? ” 

“ I do not yet know precisely what I shall do,” 
answered Celestin. “ Life is not very agreeable 
in the country, particularly for a person who has 
seen anything of the world.” 

“Ah ! But that, after all, depends on how 
one looks at things. Where would you prefer to 
live ? ” 

“ In Paris.” 

“ You are wrong, my boj^', very wrong — alto- 
gether wrong,” replied the Chevalier, with con- 
siderable energy. “ Think of your position. With 
what you have, and what you can make by work- 
ing at your trade, you could live here wdth every 
comfort, and in a way that three times the amount 
would not permit in a city. If you went to some 


A TIIOROTJGn BOHEMIENNE. 


85 


little expense in your house, you would be better 
lodged than any one among the middle classes in 
Paris, who pay besides the most frightful rents. 
A workingman in Paris is compelled to live in a 
garret. I know it all — the whole story. I know 
the capital, moreover, most thoroughly, and I as- 
sure you positively that it is the most unhealthy 
place in the world for you — for any young man. 
They all lose themselves there, body and soul. 
The corruption is all-pervading — the corruption 
of bad traditions and pernicious examples.” 

After this outburst Celestin did not dare to say 
that he had spent three years in Paris, and that he 
regretted the life in the attic and the workshop of 
which the Chevalier had spoken with such intense 
bitterness and indignation. 

“ Just now,” he resumed, “ I have no plans. 
It will be time for me to decide where to establish 
myself when I am weary of this place.” 

“ That time can not be far off,” observed Ir^ne. 
“You live alone, I am told.” 

“ I have books, and they are the best com- 
panions,” said Celestin, sententiously. 

“ You take advantage of your leisure hours, 
and spend them in study ? That is very wise,” 
said the Chevalier. “ I have a passably good li- 
brary, which I will place at your disposal with the 
greatest possible pleasure. What authors do you 
prefer ? ” 

“ I am particularly partial to poetry,” answered 


86 


A THOKOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


Celestin, evasively. “ There are some good verses 
written by Auguste Ravachon.” 

“ Ah ! I don’t think I know that poet,” said 
the Chevalier, thoughtfully. 

“Perhaps he has not written much,” added 
Irene. 

“ Rot very much,” answered Celestin. “ He is 
a friend of mine. His poems have never been 
printed, but I have a copy of several of them, 
one in particular, a ‘ satire on Power.’ It begins 
in this way : 

‘ S’il fallait t’incenser, je briserais ma lyre.’ ” 

“ My dear Piolot, you can do better than that. 
Ho you know the old authors, those that are called 
the classics ? ” 

“ I have heard of them, I believe,” answered 
the young man with light disdain. 

“ I will lend you these works later. Just now 
they would be too strong for you, I fear. You 
must begin with simple food. Come some day 
and look at my library with me, and we will find 
something for you.” 

Celestin expressed his gratitude by a stiff in- 
clination of his whole body. This desire to in- 
struct him and develop his tastes was not appre- 
ciated by him, but he decided that it was not pre- 
cisely the time for further quotations from his 
friend Ravachon, and prudently dropped the sub- 
ject. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


87 


‘‘Nature is beautiful at this season,” he be- 
gan in stately fashion, as he glanced from the 
window. 

“ It is always beautiful in Brittany,” answered 
the Chevalier. “ As soon as the early frosts have 
carried off the leaves from the trees, the furze 
comes into bloom ; and in midwinter the land has 
a look of spring.” 

“ It is a sight of which the eyes never weary,” 
said Celestih in pompous phraseology! “ Nature 
is admirable in all forms. I have a friend who is 
an artist ; he paints landscapes from nature. I 
have been Avith him and seen him paint. It was 
in my presence that he began his great pictm’e for 
the Exposition. It was magnificent ! bewilder- 
ing ! Well ! it was rejected. A picture on which 
he had spent three months : which would have 
given him a reputation and made his fortune ! He 
took it away of course, and then the false friends 
who had praised it picked it to bits. They went 
so far as to call this superb picture spinach and 
eggs. I really thought he would lose his mind.” 

“ Poor fellow ! And what became of the pic- 
ture ? ” asked Ir^ne. 

“ The picture ! Oh ! fortunately it was a land- 
scape, as I told you. He painted a beautiful cow 
in the very middle and a few chickens in the fore- 
ground, and sent it to his father, who has a farm 
at Montmartre. The good man of course believed 
it was painted expressly for him to place on his 


88 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


door, and at tliis very day it serves as a sign to 
the dairy of Pere Robinot,” 

The visit was prolonged until the hour for din- 
ner was near at hand. Celestin knew very well 
it was time for him to go, but how to take him- 
self out of the room was now in his eyes a very 
difficult problem. He fidgeted on his chair and 
twisted his hat about in his hands until all sem- 
blance of a hat had fled. Then at last, as if moved 
by a spring, he started to his feet and said, as he 
passed his hand through his hair with an attempt 
at carelessness : 

“ The hour grows late. With your permission 
I will retire ! ” 

‘‘ Good-by, my dear Piolot ; an revoir Good- 
by, Celestin”; “ Good-by, Monsieur Celestin,” said 
the Chevalier, Mademoiselle Kerbsejean, and Mimi 
all together. 

“ Do not disturb yourself — do not disturb 
yourself,” repeated the young man as he succeed- 
ed in reaching the door v/ithout any especial acci- 
dent. After he was gone, Mimi watched until 
he passed out of the gate. 

Who on earth would think he was the grand- 
son. of that ugly, ragged old Cattel ? He has 
gloves and a watch-chain ! ” 

‘‘Do you think him good-looking?” asked 
Irene. 

“ Certainly I do,” the girl answered. “ He is 
not in the least like a workingman.” 


A TnOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


89 


The same day after dinner Ir^ne drew her 
uncle to a remote corner of the terrace, and, seat- 
ing herself by his side, said in a mysterious tone : 

“ Uncle, I have a splendid idea ! ” 

Indeed, my child ! and what may it be ? ” 

“ Do you know that I think it would be a good 
plan to marry Mimi to Celestin Piolot ? ” 

The Chevalier shook his head and opened his 
snuff-box, his invariable resource in times of hesi- 
tation and perplexity. 

‘‘ Your idea is not absolutely unwise, my dear,” 
he said at last ; “but I see nevertheless many 
difficulties in the way. I cannot of course pro- 
pose this marriage to Celestin ; he must think of 
it himself.” 

“ That is true,” murmured Irene. 

“ He may think of it if he stays here,” con- 
tinued the Chevalier ; . “ but in the mean time not 
a word in regard to the project must be said to 
Mimi.” 

“Of course not,” answered Ir^ne eagerly. 
“ She must not have the least suspicion.” 

“You feel anxious in regard to Mimi’s fu- 
ture lot?” said the Chevalier after a long si- 
lence. 

“Yes, uncle, I do indeed. I love the poor 
child, and should like to see her happy.” 

“ She is not bad at heart,” said the Chevalier, 
“ but she presents a strong illustration of nature 
unconquered by education.” 


90 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


“ If we Rad had her when she was very little,” 
replied Irene with a smile, she would not now 
be so wild.” 


IX. 

Some days after this, the Chevalier, Mademoi- 
selle de Kerbsejean, and Mimi were walking on 
the shore at low tide. After strolling about for 
an hour or more, they stopped at a spot where 
the rocks defined a perfect circle. Several blocks 
of granite, detached from their parent cliffs by 
the perpetual washing of the waves, and half 
buried in the shifting sand, formed seats which 
were accidentally arranged around a long, flat 
stone which the Chevalier always spoke of as 
“my niece’s divan.” This place was often the 
termination of their walk, and they lingered there 
to rest a while before they turned their faces 
again homeward. They often lunched there, too, 
on black bread and fruit which they obtained at 
a farm-house close by. It was Mimi who gener- 
ally managed this little transaction. This morn- 
ing she came back, contrary to her usual custom, 
running and out of breath. 

“ Do you know,” she said as soon as she could 
speak, “ that I saw Monsieur Celestin ? he is com- 
ing this way, too ! ” 

“ So much the better ! ” answered Irene gay- 
ly ; “ he will show us where to find some shells.” 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


91 


“ Shells for the fountain in the garden ? ” ex- 
claimed Mimi. “ Why, we have already gathered 
baskets full,” 

‘‘ And you, Laziness ! ” answered Ir^ne, laugh- 
ing, “ have never taken the trouble to bring me 
one ! ” 

Celestin now appeared. He bowed stiffly and 
was going on when Mademoiselle Kerbsejean 
spoke to him. 

Not so fast, Celestin,” she cried in a tone of 
gay familiarity, “ come here ; we want you to do 
something for us.” 

“ I am entirely at your service,” he stammered 
as he approached. 

‘‘ My uncle has been turning over the sand for 
the last hour with his cane in hopes of finding 
some shells for our rockery in the garden ; but he 
has been entirely unsuccessful. Can you help us ? ” 

‘‘ Most gladly, mademoiselle,” answered the 
young man eagerly. 

“ But we must lunch first,” said Mimi, drav/- 
ing from her basket a loaf of rye bread, some su- 
perb apricots and brown pears. 

The Chevalier greeted the young man kindly, 
and when Mimi had properly arranged the fruit 
on green leaves he invited Celestin to be seated, 
saying with a laugh, ‘‘ The table is laid, and made- 
moiselle is waiting.” 

Mademoiselle cut with her own hands the 
coarse black bread, and handed a slice to Celes- 


92 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


tin, who accepted it with diffidence, saying as she 
did so, My uncle never eats lunch ; and as to 
Mimi, I believe she would rather die of hunger 
than eat a crumb of black bread ! ” 

“ But that stuff is not bread,” answered Mimi 
with a look of disgust. 

You prefer fruit ? ” returned Irene kindly. 
‘‘Well, then, help yourself and offer it to Celes- 
tin.” 

Mimi presented the basket to the young man. 
He took an apricot, and then looked round to find 
a place where he could sit. 

“ The chairs are a trifle far apart ! ” said 
Irene with a laugh ; and in fact the larger bench 
on which she and Mimi were sitting was at a con- 
siderable distance from the other stones. 

“ I will make room for you,” cried Mimi, draw- 
ing her skirts together so as to leave an empty 
space between herself and Mademoiselle Kerbse- 
jean, who in her turn moved a little as if to sec- 
ond Mimi’s invitation. 

“ You are very good. Mademoiselle Mimi,” 
said the young man in great confusion, as he took 
his place, with his elbows glued to his sides, and 
holding himself severely erect. 

“You are not eating,” said Mimi patroniz- 
ingly. 

“Yes, indeed. Mademoiselle,” he answered 
with a great gulp, and nearly choking himself 
with a huge mouthful of bread. By degrees. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


93 


however, he regained his composure, and was more 
at ease than on his visit to the manor house. His 
words were not so stilted and his manner was in- 
finitely more natural. 

After lunch the young people departed in quest 
of the shells that each new tide threw upon the 
beach; and Celestin was fortunate enough to secure 
some of a variety that was rarely found on that 
shore. They were those softly tinted bivalves 
which, while utterly without value in the eyes of 
naturalists, are highly esteemed by persons v/ho 
wish to form them into those eccentric bouquets 
sometimes seen in curiosity shops. 

Ah ! what lovely little shells ! ” cried Mimi, 
as she received them in her basket. “ One might 
make all sorts of flowers with them.” 

Yes,” said Ir6ne ; “if I had enough I would 
try to do some large roses.” 

“ They would be very beautiful,” replied Ce- 
lestin. He walked with them to the door of the 
manor house. As soon as Mademoiselle de Kerbs6- 
jean was alone with her uncle, she said to him 
with an air of girlish triumph : 

“ Well, uncle ! what do you think now ? It 
is clear that your young man is much pleased with 
Mimi. She was very sweet toward him too. It 
seems to me that things are going very smoothly, 
and that the marriage will come of itself ! ” 

“ It is quite probable,” answered the Chevalier; 
“ and if so I shall certainly be much pleased.” 


94 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


Celestin came again to tlie manor at the end 
of two days, and this time made his entr4e with 
more ease to himself and others. Mademoiselle 
de Kerhsejean was alone with Mimi. He came in 
with his hat in both hands, and bowed without 
letting it fall, and slipped into the nearest chair, 
drawing a long breath of relief as he did so. 

You seem fatigued,” said Mademoiselle de 
Kerbsejean, noticing that his face was red, as if 
he had been taking a long walk in the sun. 

‘‘ I have been walking,” he answered ; and, tak- 
ing a handkerchief tied up at the four corners 
from his hat, he added : “ I went to look for some- 
thing that I promised Mademoiselle Mimi the 
other day.” 

“ Promised me ! ” she cried. What is it ? I 
do not remember anything. Let us see.” 

Celestin untied the handkerchief and spread 
out on the marble table a collection of shells of 
different colors and kinds. 

“ How exquisite ! ” exclaimed Irene. “ Where 
did you find them ? ” 

“Beyond Roscoff, at the He de Bats. The 
shore is covered with them.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Mimi with a bright blush ; “ and 
you went all that way for me ? ” 

“And because mademoiselle said that she 
would like some of these shells to make roses of.” 

“ But I should be very sorry to have you go so 
far merely to gratify my whim,” cried Ir^ne ; 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


9 ^ 


therefore I will leave to Mimi the burthen of the 
gratitude you merit.” 

From that day the young man was often seen 
by the inhabitants of the manor. He came to the 
house always with some good excuse, or he was 
seen by Ir^ne and Mimi when they went to walk 
with the Chevalier. This transient intercourse 
had upon him the happiest effect ; his language 
became more natural and more correct, and his 
bearing less awkward. The Chevalier lent him 
books and gave him many useful hints ; but the 
kind old gentleman met with many unlooked-for 
obstacles. Like most men in his position, Celestin 
disdained all that was written with the especial 
purpose of enlightening the profound ignorance of 
the people by imparting exact ideas in the most 
•direct and simple fashion. He absolutely refused 
to open “La Science populaire de Claudius,” al- 
though he knew nothing of the work save its 
title. At the same time he eagerly took posses- 
sion of some political works of which he could not 
comprehend one word ; which fact, however, did 
not prevent him from quoting long sentences with 
imperturbable and amusing aplomb. His mind 
was naturally inclined to reverie and even mysti- 
cism. Historical works and travels did not interest 
him in the least. Books of poetry appealed to 
him more strongly, and he could have devoured 
an entire library of plays and novels. 

All this time Irene’s plans seemed rapidly 


96 


A THOROUGH BOIIEMIENNE. 


drawing to a successful termination. Celestin 
seized every occasion to present himself at the 
manor ; and when every possible excuse was ex- 
hausted for going, and the ladies were prevented 
from going out by a succession of rainy days, he 
could be seen, through the rain and the mist, wan- 
dering disconsolately in the meadows. And at 
last, when the sun shone through the clouds again, 
and he came face to face with the Chevalier as he 
suddenly turned the corner of a hedge, and heard 
the fresh young voices utter kindly greetings, he 
would shiver and turn pale with emotion. 

Mimi was the first perhaps to comprehend 
these symptoms, and this discovery developed 
within her hitherto unsuspected instincts of co- 
quetry. She now affected fluttering ribbons and 
soft lace ; and her desire to please was shown in 
the time she spent before her mirror studying the 
effect of a rose-colored knot in her corsage, or 
amid the shining braids of her black hair. She 
encouraged Celestin in a thousand indescribable 
ways, and showed him very clearly that she took 
great pleasure in his society. These marks of 
preference, however, did not encourage the young 
man, as he accepted them timidly and replied only 
by the most discreet attentions. 

Irene took the greatest pleasure in this little 
romance which was going on under her eyes, and 
looked forward to a happy denouement with con- 
fidence and impatience. The poor child, how- 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIEXNE. 


97 


ever, knew nothing of love ; she had never opened 
one of the books of the present day which so 
clearly depict and dissect the passion, and she 
had no clear perception of what was going on in 
those two troubled hearts. Ir^ne was almost a 
child in years, thoroughly artless and innocent in 
nature, and suspected nothing of the headlong en- 
thusiasm, the joy, the despair, and the sadness of 
love. 

This pretty pastoral lasted for some time, when 
all at once Mimi’s mood changed. Suddenly, and 
without the smallest apparent motive, she became 
excessively cold in her manner toward Celestin, 
and even seemed annoyed by his presence. Under 
pretense of illness she refused to go out, and for 
several days did not even make her appearance in 
the salon. This conduct seemed to act as a spur 
to Celestin, who came daily to ask of Mimi’s 
health, and appeared more astonished than irri- 
tated at her conduct. 

This unexpected turn of affairs disconcerted 
Mademoiselle Kerbsejean, and one morning when 
alone with her uncle she said to him in a troubled 
sort of way : 

“ I can not understand what Mimi has got into 
her head. She is like what she was when we first 
knew her. She stays in her room, and will not open 
her lips to any one. One who did not know her 
would think her in great grief ; but of course we 
know that this is not so. But something has hap- 
7 


98 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


pened, something is going on in her mind, which 
I can not get at ; nor can Madame Gervais, who 
has questioned her more closely than I would dare 
to do.” 

“My dear child,” answered the Chevalier, 
gravely, “ I am afraid that you are responsible for 
this, and that you have imprudently spoken to her 
of this matrimonial project.” 

“IN'ever, uncle, never ! ” Irene answered eager- 
ly. “ Of course I could not mention it until Ce- 
lestin made a formal proposal.” 

“ A formal proposal ! ” exclaimed the Cheva- 
lier. “ I do not believe that he even thinks of 
doing so. He has had ample opportunity to broach 
the subject to me, but has never approached it.” 

“ And yet it is easy to see that he loves Mimi ! ” 

“Well! I don’t know; it is not altogether 
easy to judge of what is ^oing on in the youth’s 
mind. But, even were I sure that he was in love 
with Mimi, I should be by no means certain that 
he would wish to marry her. The very reasons 
which would alw'ays deter me from suggesting to 
any young man that he might ask for Mimi’s hand, 
and with it a comfortable dowry, may affect Cc- 
lestin as well. I have never made any allusion 
to Mimi’s parentage, or told him of the circum- 
stances attending her father’s death. Every one, 
of course, knows it here, and he may have heard 
the story twenty times. All depends on the im- 
pression it may have made on him, which impres- 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


99 


sion, I fear, lias not been favorable to our plans. 
Magni must have talked by the hour together, 
and repeated to him all that old Cattel Piolot said ; 
and he has probably decided on his course. This, 
in my opinion, is the reason why he has made no 
application to me.” 

“ I never thought of this,” said Ir^ne, sadly. 

“ Fortunately, there is no harm done,” resumed 
the Chevalier. 

“ It is perhaps only timidity that prevents Cc- 
lestin from speaking,” continued the girl, adhering 
obstinately to her pet idea ; “and time will show.” 

The same day Magni appeared at the manor. 
She brought from C^lestin a little basket of figs 
which he had got at Roscoff from that huge tree 
whose spreading branches are the wonder of the 
whole country. It was Mademoiselle de Kerb- 
sejean who received the old woman, who did not 
go away until she had talked for an hour about 
her master. 

“ He is a good boy,” she said, “ and certainly 
makes no ill use of his little fortune. He never 
puts his fpot within the doors of a cabaret ; he 
walks all day, and in the evening he reads or 
writes. His only fault, in my opinion, is that he 
is too proud with poor people. He ought to re- 
member that no member of his family ever wore 
silk, and that his grandmother’s petticoat had 
as many pieces in it as there are days in the 
year.” 


100 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


‘‘ Which did not prevent her from being proud 
in her way, too,” said Irene. 

Celestin honors her memory,” continued Ma- 
gni ; ‘‘ and, when I tell him how good the whole 
Kerbsejean family were to her, his gratitude 
passes all bounds.” 

“ Poor Cattel ! ” said Irene. “ She was an ec- 
centric creature — rough externally, but at heart 
good and charitable. She showed this at the 
time she watched over the body of that unfortu- 
nate — ” 

Oh yes,” interrupted Magni ; I told that 
story to Celestin.” 

“ Ah ! And what did he say ? ” 

“Not much. He was extremely astonished, 
however, when he heard how the little girl who 
lives under your roof got here. He would not 
believe me when I described her appearance and 
that of her father. But one day, when I was 
clearing away a lot of old boxes in an outhouse, 
what should I come across but a bundle of old 
clothes — the very ones the musician and his daugh- 
ter had on their backs the day they came. Every- 
thing was there — the coat, the knee-breeches, the 
wig, and everything else. I called Celestin, think- 
ing he would laugh ; but no, indeed. As soon as 
his eyes fell on the rags, he looked much pained, 
and begged me to put them away carefully where 
no one would ever see them.” 

“ My uncle is right, I fear,” thought Irene. 


A THOROUGH BOIIEMIENXE. 


101 


The same day before dinner she went to Mimi’s 
room. 

“\Yell, well! naughty girl,” she said, plea- 
santly, “ do you never intend to be well again ? ” 

“ I am not ill,” answered Mimi, tranquilly. 

“ Then why do you stay shut up here ? Why 
do you not go out to walk with us ? ” 

“ I hate to walk,” was the unexpected reply. 

“ But you do not hate to come down to the 
salon ? ” cried Ir^ne in astonishment. 

‘‘ Do you need me to wind your wools ? ” 
asked Mimi. 

“ No, Mimi, no ! it was not that I wished to 
make use of you that I asked you that,” replied 
Mademoiselle de Kerbsejean gently. “ I want 
you in the salon because I want your society.” 

‘‘ I am perfectly well off here,” replied Mimi, 
in a tone which indicated smoldering bitterness 
in her heart. 

Ir^ne said no more, but left the room. When 
she reached her own she found her mother’s maid, 
now an old woman, waiting to aid her in dress- 
ing. This woman, as she brushed her young 
lady’s hair, said : 

“ Mademoiselle Mimi does not deserve all your 
goodness. Do you know what she did this very 
day, and in my presence ? She opened the win- 
dow and tossed out those beautiful great roses 
which you took so much trouble to make out of 
those shells.” 


102 


A THOROUGH HOIIEMIENNE. 


‘‘ She did that ? ” cried Irene aghast. 

I reproved her, mademoiselle,” continued the 
maid, “ but she told me that the shells were hers.” 

‘‘ That is true ; Celestin Piolot gave them to 
her.” 

“ That is no reason for pulling them to pieces, 
I am sure. Besides, what harm did Celestin Pio- 
lot ever do to her ? ” 

“ I do not know,” murmured Ir^ne ; ‘‘ but it 
is certain that she is angry with him for some 
reason.” 

All these reflections prevented Mademoiselle 
Kerbsejean from eating any dinner, and when 
night came from sleeping. Magni’s words trou- 
bled her. She drew a forcible picture of C41es- 
tin with his love and his prejudices, and she pre- 
pared a long series of reasons to prove to him 
that Mimi was not unworthy of his affection nor 
of his hand, merely because she had danced in 
the public room of an inn, and her father had 
worn a ridiculous costume. Sleep overtook her 
finally, and she dreamed that they were celebrat- 
ing this wedding by a dance in the old house 
where Celestin lived, and that in the midst of the 
festivity the shade of old Cattel appeared and 
drove away the mountebank’s daughter with her 
distaff. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


103 


X. 

The next day, at the hour when the family 
from the manor usually went out for their walk, 
Celestin Piolot left his house and strolled slowly 
down to the shore. It was the last of Septem- 
ber, and fleeting clouds had darkened the sky at 
intervals all the morning ; but at this moment a 
brilliant rainbow appeared dividing the clouds, 
which fled before a soft southeast wind, and the 
sun began to dry the grass. The young man fol- 
lowed the road that passed the manor, and went 
to the rocks where some months before he had 
lunched in such charming companionship. 

This sweet recollection apparently fllled his 
mind, for he seated himself again in the same 
place and drew an interlaced cipher on the sand 
with a light willow wand. Then, rising with an 
apparent effort, he turned back by the same path 
he had come, and noticed the black , clouds that 
were once more gathering thick and fast in the 
sky. On going out that morning he had uttered 
an ardent prayer that the sun should show his 
radiant face in an azure sky ; now, returning from 
his solitary walk, he wished none the less ardently 
that the black clouds would open and pour down 
upon his devoted head ; but he could conjure nei- 
ther storm nor flne weather to his aid, and when 
he was square in front of the manor the rain still 


104 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


held off. Then, without the smallest excuse, and 
indeed without any reflection, he entered the gate. 
Generally there were people on the terrace and in 
the hall, but on the day of which we write there 
were none. Yi^hen Celestin reached the ante- 
room he found there only a little heedless servant 
boy, who ran forward and threw open the door 
of the salon without speaking. The young man 
stood on the threshold, not knowing exactly what 
to do. Mademoiselle de Kerbsejean was there 
and alone, in her usual seat before her embroidery 
frame, but not at work, for she had dropped her 
needle and held a book. 

‘‘ Come in, Celestin,” she said as she looked 
up. 

“ I disturb you, I fear,” he said, with a glance 
around the room. 

‘‘ Not at all,” she said gayly, pointing to a low 
chair close by her frame. ‘‘ Sit here.” 

He obeyed, hardly daring to breathe. Made- 
moiselle de Kerbsejean smiled slightly on seeing 
his evident discomfort. 

‘‘What has gone wrong?” she said. “You 
seem annoyed.” 

“ I ! not at all, mademoiselle,” he answered, in 
a constrained voice. 

“ Poor Mimi,” added Irene, “ has not come 
down stairs to-day. She is still not quite well.” 

“Ah ! so much the worse. I am sorry, very 
Sony,” stammered Celestin. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


105 


Then came a long and formidable silence. 
Mademoiselle de Kerbsejean thought this a most 
excellent occasion for an explanation ; but she 
had not the smallest idea of how to approach this 
delicate question. How could she do it without 
showing her own embarrassment ? With these 
thoughts in her mind she sat with her eyes art- 
lessly riveted on Celestin’s face, trying to read 
there something of his own thoughts and the 
mood he Avas in. Under these sweet eyes the 
young man shrank, and at last, hiding his face in 
his hands, he munnured a few unintelligible words. 

“ What has gone wrong ? ” asked Irene once 
more ; “ what troubles you ? ” 

‘‘ Prejudices ! prejudices ! ” he cried, lifting 
his eyes upward with a look of despair. 

This isolated word naturally led to an expla- 
nation, and Mademoiselle de Kerbsejean said, with 
a quaint sincerity of belief that was absolutely 
delicious : “ Only weak minds indulge in preju- 
dices ; such chimeras never affect enlightened in- 
tellects.” 

“ Mademoiselle ! can I believe that it is you 
who speak ? ” cried Celestin. 

“ I ? Certainly, and why not ? ” she answered 
quietly. “ I only say what I think. Do you sup- 
pose, for example, that I despise Mimi because she 
is the daughter of a poor man who earned his bread 
by playing a guitar and singing in the streets ? 
Ko, no— by no means. It would be a great in- 


106 


A THOROUGH BOIIEMIENNE. 


justice to measure the esteem and affection we 
should show people by the good or bad fortune of 
their parents. Am I v/rong, Celestin ? And do you 
not feel as I do ? ” 

“ Oh yes,” he answered, pressing his hand to 
his breast as if he felt a strange oppression. “ Yes, 
I think I understand you ; but I feel that I can 
not realize my present happiness ! ” 

“ Come, come ! ” said Ir^ne, touched by the 
feeling and agitation shown by the young man ; 
“ try and be composed.” 

“But the joy is too intense. Would that I 
could die now at this very moment.” 

“Is it possible,” thought Mademoiselle de 
Kerbsejean, “ that people in love think and feel 
in this way ? ” 

The young man drew his chair a little nearer 
to her side, and continued without looking at her : 

“You have divined my secret,” he said ; “but 
you have not divined — you can never divine — the 
wild passion that pulses through my veins ! hfo, 
you can never know what a love like mine is. 
It has given me much happiness, and tortures 
from which I have only escaped with life. Here,” 
he added, drawing from his breast the corner of a 
checked handkerchief — “here is the fichu you 
made . for my poor grandmother. For three 
months I have worn it on my heart as a relic.” 

Ir«^ne began to understand by this time, and 
sat in silent consternation. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIEXNE. 


107 


“ Behold me at your feet ! ” he cried in in- 
creasing excitement ; “ my life, my soul I conse- 
crate to you, mademoiselle. Irene, I love you ! ” 

‘‘You ! ” exclaimed the haughty Bretonne 
with an indescribable air of disdain and cold 
scorn ; and without another word she pointed to 
the door with an imperious gesture. 

Celestin turned absolutely livid, and rose with 
trembling Hmbs. In his face was a look of such 
despair, and almost of indignant rage, that Made- 
moiselle Kerbsejean instinctively shrank behind 
the embroidery frame. 

“ Have no fear,” he said in a dull, low voice ; 
“ I am going. Ah me ! everything is at an end ! ” 

And with these words he dashed from the sa- 
lon and from the house itself. 

A moment later Madame Gervais entered. 

“ What is it ? ” she said. “ I have just met 
Celestin Piolot going down the avenue without a 
hat and looking almost like a madman. He flashed 
by me like lightning. What have you been say- 
ing to him, Irene ? ” 

Instead of answering, Mne buried her face in 
her arms, which were crossed on her embroidery 
frame, and burst into a passion of tears — tears of 
shame and mortiflcation. 

The governess went to her, and, putting her 
arms around her, said in a tone of intense anxiety: 

“ What is it, my dear child ? What has hap- 
pened ? ” 


108 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


“ That I can never have courage to tell you,” 
answered the girl. Then, burying her face again 
on Madame Gervais’s shoulder, she cried until she 
could cry no more. When she was able, she told 
her governess all that had taken place, in a voice 
broken by incoherent exclamations of indignation 
and intense mortification. 

The wise governess took care not to increase 
the disturbance in the girl’s mind by attaching too 
much importance to her narration ; she heard the 
story in silence, and then said, with a little shrug 
of the shoulders : 

“Well, well! he is certainly a most foolish 
boy, and it was a most ridiculous scene. But, dear 
child, why do you reproach yourself in this way ? 
You are not to blame. You have done rightly, 
and could not foresee such insanity. But it is all 
over now. The impertinent boy will never show 
his face here again ; and he will also avoid meeting 
you elsewhere. As I am sure you will be freed 
from his presence, it will not be necessary, I think, 
to trouble your uncle.” 

This way of looking at the affair suddenly 
calmed Ir5ne, as it relieved her mind of various 
scruples which haunted her. 

“ Alas ! ” she said, “ who would ever have an- 
ticipated such an absurdity ? ” 

“ Neither you nor I, be assured of that,” an- 
swered Madame Gervais ; “ but Mimi, I think, 
has been clearer-sighted.” 


A THOROUGH BOIIEMIENNB. 100 

“ You are right, my good friend,” exclaimed 
Mademoiselle de Kerbsejean, struck by this ob- 
servation ; ‘‘and this is the reason why she 
is so angry with this young man, and why she 
threw my roses from the window. She loves him 
then ! ” 

“ She is so capricious, so indifferent, my dear 
Ir^ne, that she will soon cease to think of him ; 
and in the meantime take my advice and avoid all 
explanations with Mimi, and let the whole affair 
fade out of your own mind.” 

Irene kissed her governess tenderly, and, after 
a moment or two of silent thought, said with her 
ingenuous eyes fixed on those of Madame Ger- 
vais : 

“ I can not understand. Tell me, what is 
love ? ” 

“ What a question ! ” exclaimed that lady, 
somewhat embarrassed to reply to such a compre- 
hensive inquiry. “ You will understand for your- 
self one of these days. Wait until that hour 
comes.” 

“ But Mimi is older than I,” answered Ir^ne 
persistently. Madame Gervais went to the win- 
dow and looked out, and then returning to her 
pupil said : 

“ Come, sweetheart, let us take a walk in the 
garden. Your eyes are red, your cheeks are burn- 
ing, and you must look like yourself before your 
uncle comes in.” 


110 


A TnOKOlTGII BOHEMIENNE. 


“ He will not come yet awhile,” answered 
Irene, with a glance at the clock. 

“ No, not yet. When he goes over the estate 
with the superintendent, it is always late when he 
comes in. The air is delicious — let us take your 
paint-box and album, and pass the remainder of 
the afternoon in the garden.” 

Just in front of the greenhouse was one of 
these flower-beds divided into symmetrical com- 
partments which the French call a parterre. The 
box borders, at least a hundred years old, striped 
the yellow soil with bronze-green lines, between 
which stood stately hollyhocks, odorless dahlias, 
and superb chrysanthemums of all shades and 
colors. The most delicate plants, which could not 
endure the fogs of the sea-coast, were in glass 
houses — geraniums, and heliotropes, and orange 
trees. A fountain surrounded by rockwork threw 
its waters into a basin filled with lilies. Ir^ne 
walked through these paths, and gathered a bunch 
of tea-roses, with their shining leaves of tender 
browns and greens, and then took her seat before 
a table just within the open door of the conserva- 
tory. On this table Madame Gervais had already 
placed the painting materials. 

“ There is that empty page,” said the gover- 
ness, opening the sketch-book. 

“There are many empty pages there,” an- 
swered the young girl. “ I have been very indo- 
lent lately, and mean now to be very diligent and 


A THOROUGH BOIIEMIENNE. 


Ill 


make up for lost time ; for you know, my good 
friend, that I must fill it before my father returns, 
which may be in two months now.” 

“ Not before New Year’s, I am sure,” said 
Madame Gervais. 

‘‘ I hope so, indeed,” answered her pupil with 
a sign ; for the nearer the time comes, the more 
difficult it seems to me to wait.” 

Two hours later the Chevalier came in. 

“ Good morning, my queen ! ” he said to his 
niece as she ran gayly to meet him. The weath- 
er has turned out superb after all, and I have re- 
gretted all day that I did not take you with me.” 

“ And I have had ten minds to go after you,” 
she answered with a kiss. 

“ What have you been doing all day ? ” he 
asked tenderly. 

“ I have painted a tea-rose which bloomed this 
year for the first time.” 

“ Show it me.” 

“No, not yet,” cried Irene, preventing her 
uncle from going to the table ; “ it is not quite 
finished. Go into the house, and I will follow 
you in a few minutes, as soon as I have picked 
up my brushes and paints.” 

The Chevalier with Madame Gervais went to 
the salon. 

“ What is that ? ” said the Chevalier, seeing a 
letter on the table sealed and addressed to Made- 
moiselle de Kerbsejean. 


112 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


He rang to ask who had brought this note. 
The servant said a boy from the village. 

“ Let us look at it together,” said the gover- 
ness, seized with a vague anxiety. 

“ Do you know the writing ? ” asked the 
Chevalier in astonishment. 

She shook her head. 

“ I take it on myself at all events to break 
the seal,” he exclaimed, doing so as he spoke. He 
hastily ran his eyes down the page, uttered an 
exclamation of astonishment, and read it aloud. 

“ Mademoiselle : After the insult I received, 
my sense of dignity of course forbids me to re- 
appear in your presence. I am going to leave 
Brittany, but I know not whither I shall go. If 
some day you hear that a miserable man has put 
an end to his existence, remember my last words, 
which will be again breathed in the last sigh of 
your devoted Celestiit Piolot.” 

During the reading of these last words, the 
wise and prudent Madame Gervais had not the 
least idea what she should say, but finally con- 
cluded not to tell the truth to the Chevalier, who 
was frowning over the word devoted,” which 
he seemed to regard as not sufficiently respectful. 

‘‘ What does this all mean ? ” he asked, shrug- 
ging his shoulders. “ How could my niece have 
insulted this boy ? ” 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


113 


‘‘ She has not insulted him,” answered Madame 
Gervais ; “ she treated him simply as he deserved, 
that is all. This afternoon he came in, as he 
sometimes does, you know. Irene had a sort of 
explanation with him, and she saw that he had 
no desire for the marriage which she has so much 
at heart ; and thereupon she made up her mind 
that he should understand that his visits must 
cease.” 

She did so too abruptly, I fear,” observed 
the Chevalier. ‘‘ I am astonished that Irene had 
not more tact.” 

“ Possibly she was wounded by something this 
youth said,” replied Madame Gervais ; he may 
have openly disdained poor Mimi.” 

“ The idiot is quite capable of just such folly,” 
said the Chevalier ; ‘‘ but I do not understand 
why he should assume these desperate airs ! ” 

“ Nor I,” said Madame Gervais, shrugging her 
shoulders. 

It is not worth while to let Irene see this let- 
ter,” added the Chevalier. 

I agree with you entirely,” said the gover- 
ness with considerable eagerness. She has no- 
thing to do, of course, with Celestin Piolot’s sen- 
timents and regrets.” 

Irene came in at that moment, and the subject 
was dropped. All now seemed at an end ; but 
in the evening Magni arrived, bearing some vol- 
umes borrowed from the Chevalier’s library. 

8 . 


114 


A THOEOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


Celestin sent them with an apology for not bring- 
ing them himself. The old woman was in the 
antechamber, and Madame Gervais heard her say : 
“ I must get back quickly, for Celestin came in 
to-day with a face that positively frightened me. 
He sat down to write, and began at least twenty 
letters before he finished one to his liking. At 
last he went out, and came back almost immedi- 
ately with the same disturbed face. I think he 
must be very ill.” 

Celestin Piolot went out of the manor with 
the firm intention of leaving his home the next 
morning ; but such a decided step was far beyond 
his strength. A fatal attraction retained him near 
the spot where Mademoiselle de Kerbsejean re- 
sided. It seemed to him that the happiness of 
seeing her occasionally, even afar off, would com- 
pensate him for the sad humiliation, the bitterness 
of his position. After vainly struggling with his 
unfortunate passion, he ended by abandoning him- 
self to it entirely. The poor fellow roamed by 
day and by night around the manor like a crazy 
creature. Notwithstanding the severe autumnal 
storms, so long and so severe on this coast, he 
would take a book in his hand and repair to 
the wooded height overlooking the shore, from 
which he could see the entire extent of the large 
gardens belonging to the manor-house. He re- 
mained there sometimes until it was dark, seated 
on the trunk of a tree, with his feet on the wet 


A THOROUGn BOHEMIENNE. 


115 


moss, watching every sign of life in the Kerbse- 
jean dwelling. The most insignificant circum- 
stance quickened the heating of his heart. A 
form passing a window, the rooms lighted one 
after the other, a curtain drawn by an invisible 
hand, would cause him to turn deadly pale. 

More than once the coast-guard saw him wan- 
dering on the shore ; but they v/ere content to 
watch him at a distance, although they had no 
idea of the reason of his nocturnal promenades. 
Had they looked at him more closely, they would 
have seen that he walked with an irregular vacil- 
lating step, with his eyes fixed on the light which 
burned behind the white-curtained windows of 

Irene’s sleeping-room. The good people of P 

had various opinions in regard to his conduct : 
some of them declared that Celestin had lost 
his mind ; but the greater number, remember- 
ing the instincts of the Piolot family, were con- 
vinced that he had some smuggling project in 
hand. 

Meanwhile this dismal lover became so hold 
that he went nearer and nearer to the manor ; and 
one dark and rainy night he sat for several hours 
on the threshold of that door which would never 
again open for him. Once even he dared to scale 
the wall, entered the garden, and spent the night 
in the greenhouse, not leaving it until daybreak. 
He carried away with him the tea-rose and a few 
sprigs of mignonette which had been withering 


116 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


for several days on the little table where Irene 
painted. 

The next morning, when the Chevalier saw his 
niece, he said : 

“ Good morning, sweetheart ; how did you 
sleep last night ? Badly enough, I suspect, for 
the dogs made a most hideous noise.” 

‘‘Yes, uncle,” she answered, as she kissed him 
affectionately, “ they really terrified me. Pyramus 
barked so furiously for an hour and more in the 
court that I fancied he smelled robbers outside.” 

“ The walls are thick and the doors solid, and 
I think we should be perfectly safe even if there 
were a small army of them in front of the house ; 
nevertheless, I was twenty times on the point of 
rising to ascertain the cause of the disturbance.” 

Mimi, who was present, now spoke. 

“ It is not the first time,” she said, approach- 
ing the window where Irene and her uncle stood 
talking, “ that this has happened ; for the other 
night the dogs were perfectly furious, and I got 
up and looked through my blinds to see if there 
was no one visible. There was a faint moonlight, 
and I saw distinctly the figure of a man under 
the lindens — under that third linden on this side.” 

“ A man ! a stranger ! ” cried the Chevalier 
and Mademoiselle de Kerbsejean both at once. 

“ He did not look like a stranger. I think it 
was Celestin Piolot,” answered Mimi, coldly. 

Irene raised her head quickly, and fixed her 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


117 


eyes on Mimi with an anxious look, while the 
Chevalier turned away with a contemptuous shrug 
of his shoulders. 

‘‘ Celestin ! Nonsense ! What would he be 
doing there in the middle of the night ? ” 

“ Just what he does all day long, I fancy,” an- 
swered Mimi abruptly. “ Have you not seen him 
a hundi’ed times walking up and down the high- 
way in front of the manor gate, wdth his nose in 
the air and his hands in his pockets, looking like 
the simpleton he is ? ” 

“No, indeed,” said the Chevalier; “I have 
seen nothing of the kind. But, even if I had, 
that would be no reason why I should believe that 
he would he roaming about our grounds at this 
season of the year and at these untimely hours. 
No, no, Mimi ; you must be mistaken.” 

“ I am not, then,” she muttered, wounded and 
sulky ; and turning she left the salon. 

Hardly had she gone when the gardener ap- 
peared at the door. He was a good old peasant 
with a square face and serious eyes, and a manner 
of the most utter imperturbability. 

“Monsieur,” he said, “I beg your pardon for 
disturbing you before breakfast, but it was neces- 
sary for me to speak to you.” 

“ Come in, my good man, come in,” answered 
the Chevalier, putting his arm round Irene, ^vho 
had drawn close to his side with some vague ap- 
prehension. 


118 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


“ Monsieur will not believe me, I dare say,’’ 
began Pierre, ‘‘but I am certain of what I am 
going to say. Some one was walking about the 
parterre last night.” 

“ Did you see him ? ” asked the Chevalier, with 
an incredulous air. 

“No, I did not see him himself, but I saw the 
marks of his feet in the sand ; and they were 
boots, real boots with heels. Since the Count 
went away there have been no footmarks like 
those in the garden. I beg your pardon, sir, but 
you know you don’t wear the kind of heels that 
young men wear. This person, whoever it was, 
went into the greenhouse — ” 

“ And stole your green oranges ? ” interrupted 
the Chevalier. 

“ Oh no, sir ; he took nothing. On the con- 
trary, he left this behind him,” said Pierre, draw- 
ing from his pocket a small diary, which was some- 
what dirty and impregnated with a combined odor 
of aromatic herbs and tobacco. The Chevalier 
opened the diary, and read from the first page the 
following 'lines : 

“ Ere I touch the match to my funeral pyre, 

I sing thy praise to my broken lyre — 

0 winged angel ! ” 

“ y/hat stuff ! ” interrupted Irene, covered 
with confusion at the conviction that her name 
would certainly appear in these ridiculous rhymes. 


A THOROUGU BOHEMIENNE. 


119 


“ ‘ O winged angel ! ’ ” repeated the Chevalier, 
laughing ; “ I hope he has carried his verse to a 
successful conclusion ! ” And the old gentleman 
read the remainder of the lines to himself, and 
then turned over the leaves, which were covered 
with interjections and isolated phrases. At last 
he said gravely : “ It is not worth while to waste 
our time over this ill-speUed farrago of nonsense. 
Evidently Celestin Piolot is the writer ; I know 
his hand.” 

‘‘ Why, where could you have seen it ? ” asked 
Irene in great surprise. 

The Chevalier bit his lip and went on : 

“Was there ever anything so utterly absurd 
as this fellow ! Of course it was not to steal a 
bouquet that he entered the conservatory, but 
what on earth was his motive ? I must take mea- 
sures to find out.” 

“ And why, pray ? ” said Ir^ne eagerly. “ I 
think that it would be far better to ignore the 
whole thing. Of course it will never occur 
again.” 

“ At all events,” resumed the Chevalier, “ we 
will in future let Pyramus loose every night ; and, 
when he is in the garden, no one, I fancy, will 
venture within the walls. Do you hear, Pierre ? ” 
he said, turning to the old gardener. 

“ Yes, sir. I hear and I understand ; and to- 
night I will let the dogs out, and will be on the 
watch myself. If little Celestin climbs over the 


120 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


wall agaiiij he will run the risk of being shot 
through the body.’’ 

Good Heavens, Pierre ! don’t do such a 
thing,” cried Irene ; “ you might kill him.” 

‘‘ Don’t be troubled, mademoiselle,” he an- 
swered solemnly. “I will load my gun with 
salt.” 

“ Very well ; you can go now,” said the Chev- 
alier, as he opened his newspaper ; “ and remem- 
ber that you are to say nothing to any one.” 
MademoiseUe de Kerbsejean went to find her 
governess, and told her hurriedly all that had 
happened. 

‘‘ Ah ! dear friend,” she murmured as she con- 
cluded, “ I have been in such a troubled state of 
mind. When Mimi mentioned Celestin Piolot’s 
name I trembled from head to foot ; and while 
my uncle was reading that foolish little diary of 
his I felt absolutely as if I should go through the 
floor. I shall never dare to go near or to look 
out of a window again, without the fear of seeing 
that long pale face. Good Heaven ! what a bore 
it all is ! ” 

“ Calm yourself, my love,” said Madame Ger- 
vais, drawing Ir^ne into her lap and kissing her 
tenderly. “ There is no necessity for your work- 
ing yourself up this way. If this young man has 
a mania for writing ridiculous verses and strolling 
about at night, I really do not see what you have 
to do with it.” 


A THOKOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


121 


“ I never wish to hear his name again,” ex- 
claimed Ir6ne petulantly. 

“ You never shall from my lips,” replied the 
governess quietly. 

This most prudent woman already knew what 
Irene had come to tell her. Her watchful tender- 
ness had discovered the same things attained by Mi- 
mi’s jealous curiosity, and she was deciding on the 
best way to end C41estin’s absurd romance when 
the gardener came with his tale to the Chevalier. 
This last exploit seemed so audacious and threat- 
ened so much future annoyance to her young 
charge, that the governess felt there was no time 
to lose. The evening of this day, therefore, when 
Mademoiselle Kerbsejean had retired to her room, 
Madame Gervais went back to the salon and took 
her place at the table, where she had intentionally 
left her work. The Chevalier was still reading at 
the corner of the fire. 

“ Well, Madame Gervais,” he said as he laid 
down his book, “ what do you think of the occur- 
rences of last night ? It is perfectly evident that 
Celestin Piolot is absurdly in love. I did not 
choose to say this in the presence of my niece, 
but I can say it to you. The thing is clear. Ce- 
lestin climbs the wall and writes execrable verses, 
all for love of Mademoiselle Mimi.” 

‘‘ He is very foolish then,” answered the gov- 
erness quietly, “ for she can’t endure him.” 

“ I am not so sure of that ! ” said the Cheva- 


122 A TEOEOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 

Her, raising his eyebrows. “ But if this be so, it 
would be an act of kindness to the youth to tell 
him so before Pyramus eats him alive, or he breaks 
his neck by a fall from that high wall, or even 
takes a cold in his head out of love for this most 
ungrateful little creature.” 

‘‘ He will soon see that she cares nothing for 
him, and the whole affair will end,” Madame Ger- 
vais answered with an air of indifference. After 
a few moments’ silence she folded her work and 
went toward the fire. 

‘‘ Have you noticed, sir,” she said quietly, 
“ how Irene has changed lately ? ” 

“ Yes, my dear Madame Gervais,” he answered 
with a sigh, “ I have indeed noticed it. She has 
lost her serenity as . well as her gayety ; a mere 
nothing irritates her ; she is sad without any 
apparent reason. But, after all, is it not to be 
expected ? Our child has departed ; our baby is 
a woman ! ” 

“ She is sad because she is in a state of expec- 
tancy, which is always trying to the nerves. . Her 
hope of seeing her father soon is marred by the 
dread of hearing each day that he is not coming. 
She counts the days now, and I tremble too lest 
the Count’s arrival shall be defeiTed longer than 
vfe supposed.” 

‘‘ I do not expect him,” replied the Chevalier, 
lowering his voice — “ I do not expect him in the 
least. If he had meant to be here before New 


A THOKOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


123 


Year’s, he would have written to me to that effect 
by the last India mail steamer. I doubt if we 
shall see him before next spring.” 

“ The delay will be intensely trying to Irene,” 
said Madame Gervais thoughtfully. ‘‘ The winter 
will seem endless to her if she finds that she must 
wait until spring for the happiness she believed to 
be so near at hand. Fortunately, at her age one 
is not absolutely inconsolable, and a very small 
distraction will dissipate a great grief. You can 
easily console Ir^ne, sir.” 

‘‘ I understand you,” he replied with a smile. 

You are of the opinion, then, that it would be 
advisable not to wait any longer, but to make our 
long-talked-of journey at once. I was quietly 
coming to the same decision. This is Mademoi- 
selle de Kersalion’s last letter,” he continued, 
opening a portfolio on the escritoire and taking 
out a letter ; “ she renews her invitation in the 
most pressing terms — so pressing that until I had 
fully decided to accept it I felt that it was best 
not to show to Irene what our good cousin said of 
her intense impatience to see the child. And Ma- 
dame de Kersalion, who for thirty years has be- 
lieved herself to be hovering between life and 
death, adds with her own hand that she can not 
die until she has pressed the heiress of the Kerb- 
sejeans to her heart.” 

“ Then let us go to Paris at once,” cried Ma- 
dame Gervais eagerly. 


124 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


This exclamation from a person ordinarily so 
self-contained struck the Chevalier most forcibly. 
He looked at his companion inquiringly. 

“ Is it possible,” he said, that our poor Hene 
is growing tired of our simple monotonous life ? ” 
“ By no means,” replied Madame Gervais gay- 
ly. “ The young bird is still contented in its nest, 
but it longs to try its wings a little.” 

The preparations for the journey were quickly 
made, and so quietly that no one outside the house 
knew anything of them. Either by accident or 
design, Madame Gervais kept all the servants so 
busy that they had no chance to run down to the 
village and gossip ; so that Magni herself, that am- 
bulatory gazette, did not learn of the Kerbse jeans’ 
departure for Paris until after they were gone. 

On the eve of All Saints’ Day Celestin Piolot 
went out as usual at noon, with a book under his 
arm, his broad-brimmed hat puUed down over his 
eyes, and his overcoat buttoned to his chin. The 
sky was black with clouds, and a fine drizzling 
rain fell with dreary persistency. As the young 
man passed the manor-house he noticed with some 
little surprise that the blinds on the lower win- 
dows were all closed ; but he had no idea of the 
real cause, and continued his way to the top of a 
small hill closely covered with trees, and stopped 
at a large rock, in the side of which was a small 
excavation overhung with ivy, wherein he was 
comparatively sheltered from the rain. 


A TnOEOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


125 


The weather grew worse and worse ; sudden 
gusts of rain and wind blew down showers of 
yellow leaves, and made the paths still more slip- 
pery. Celestin crept into his lair among the 
rocks, and sat there with his elbows on his knees. 
He could see the paths in the parterre marked by 
their rows of box, and on the left the glass houses 
which were filled with exotics ; but in a moment 
the rain dropped like a gray curtain between him- 
self and this prospect, and Celestin endeavored in 
vain to discover if any living person was behind 
that transparent wall which sheltered the chilly 
orange-trees from the cold rain. Once or twice 
he fancied he saw a woman’s form, and this illu- 
sion suificed to make him happy for the whole day. 
After two or three hours he rose and took his way 
to the village, his heart beating with passion, but 
chilled to the marrow of his bones by the damp- 
ness. 

As he reached the terrace he saw Magni com- 
ing down the steps, who when she caught sight of 
her young master ran to meet him, with the ex- 
clamation : 

“ I have a great piece of news for you ; do 
you know what I have just heard ? The Cheva- 
lier, Mademoiselle, and Madame Gervais went 
away this morning.” 

‘‘ Ah ! ” said Celestin with a start, and stand- 
ing still as if a thunder-clap had burst over his 
head. 


126 


A THOKOUGII BOHEMIENNE. 


“ Yes ; they went a little after dawn in the 
carriage,” continued Magni, “ and are by this time 
on board the steamer. To-morrow, in spite of 
the bad weather, they will be at Havre, and the 
next day in Paris. Mimi told me all this ; she 
can be pleasant enough when she chooses, you 
see.” 

“ Ah ! they left her behind them then ? ” mur- 
mured Celestin without knowing what he said. 

“ Yes, she is under Perrine’s care. You know 
Perrine, the old woman who used to be maid to 
the Countess,” answered Magni. “ Mimi likes it 
too, for now she is absolute rnistress of the manor. 
She told me that she liked it, and that she was 
never tired of being alone. ‘ Ho,’ she says, ‘ Dame 
Perrine never orders me about. I shall rise when 
I please, and go to bed just when I choose ; I shall 
read all day if the notion takes me ; I shall walk 
when and where I like ; and I shall wear my Sun- 
day dresses every day.’ Then she asked me how 
you were, in such a tone that I knew she was very 
anxious to hear about you, and that she likes you 
very much. What message shall I give her from 
you when I see her ? ” 

“ Tell her that I am well — well enough,” an- 
swered Celestin, with some little roughness ; and 
without another word he abruptly turned on his 
heel, retraced his steps, and spent the remainder 
of the day in his old haunt in the woods. 

Magni was too much accustomed to his eccen- 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


127 


tricities to conceive tlie least suspicion ; after she 
had made the tour of the village and communi- 
cated her startling intelligence, she returned home 
to prepare her master’s dinner, and then awaited 
his coming with her usual patience. After it 
was entirely dark he appeared, looking like a 
shipwrecked person dashed on the beach by the 
last heavy wave. His clothes were thoroughly 
drenched ; his hat, shapeless and wet, was pulled 
over his eyes ; and his hair stuck to his pale face. 

“ Good heavens ! how you look ! ” cried Ma- 
gni, who, having foreseen precisely this state of 
things, had wisely lighted a few sticks in the fire- 
place, the cheery blaze and sparkle of which filled 
the room with light and noise. “Do go and 
change your clothes at once, and then get wai-m 
before you eat anything. You look as if you were 
going to be ill.” 

“I am not cold,” answered Celestin, laconi- 
cally. 

“ Then eat your dinner, for it has been ready 
three hours.” 

“ I am not hungry.” 

“ Then you are sick, that is all ; and it is not 
in the least astonishing, considering the life you 
lead. I shall go and make you a hot tisane ; and, 
when you have swallowed it, I shall insist on your 
going to bed and covering yourself well up. You 
will soon be in a perspiration, and to-morrow all 
right.” 


128 A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 

“ I have no time to go to bed,” answered Ce- 
lestin ; “it will take me all night to make my 
preparations for a journey. To-morrow morning 
I start.” 

“ What on earth do you mean ? ” cried Magni, 
aghast ; “ and where are you going ? ” 

“To Paris.” 

“ To Paris ? You too ! ” repeated the old wo- 
man, more and more astonished. “ Do you think 
you shall see the Kerbs6jeans?” 

“ It is quite possible,” answered Celestin, coldly. 

“Well, well!” muttered Magni, “strange 
things happen nowadays. And what is to become 
of me?” 

“You will wait here quietly, and will take 
care of the house.” 

And without further delay he went to the old 
armoire, and thence to the antique chest of draw- 
ers, to find all his best clothes. 

Magni looked on in silence for a few moments ; 
then, going toward him, she said : 

“ Listen, Celestin Piolot. I am only a poor 
woman hired by you ; but it is precisely because 
I eat your bread that I feel I ought to speak 
frankly to you, and as my conscience dictates. You 
are living a life that is ruining you in every way 
— your little fortune and yourself. I know very 
well that you are not dissipated, and that you 
never drink ; but I nevertheless believe that it 
would be far better for you to spend a little money 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


129 


at the cabaret than to run from morning till night 
over the fields in this crazy sort of way. May I 
give you a little piece of advice? Well, then, 
remain here in your home, work at your trade, 
and find a wife before the end of the year.” 

Celestin Piolot shrugged his shoulders with a 
fierce burst of laughter. 

“ Marry ! I marry ? That is quite impossible.” 

“Impossible? And why, pray?” asked Ma- 
gni. “ There are plenty of good matches about 
here. A good-looking fellow like you, with a roof 
over his head and some shining gold pieces in a 
strong box at his notary’s, won’t have to ask twice 
for a wife, unless he should take it into his head 
to want to marry one of the daughters of the 
King of France, or perhaps a Kerbsejean ! ” 

At these last words Celestin turned pale. He 
looked at Magni with a troubled air, as if to ask 
if she had discovered his secret ; but tfie old wo- 
man, who had never dreamed of such an enormity, 
continued with a knowing wink : 

“ Other people have been young besides your- 
self, you know, and I know by experience how 
foolish girls can be. I know one this very minute 
who would give her eyes to keep you here.” 

“ Who is that ? Oh, that little Mimi ? ” said 
Celestin, with superb disdain. “ I hope she is no 
such simpleton, and has no such ideas. If she 
has, she will have plenty of time to forget them 
while I am gone.” 

9 


130 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


XL 

Celestin Piolot left the next morning at 
daybreak. His old housekeeper accompanied him 
a short distance, and, having at last bid him fare- 
well, she hurried off to the manor, hoping to be 
the first to tell how her young master had also 
decided to take a little trip to Paris. 

On hearing this bit of news, Mimi showed not 
the smallest surprise or excitement, but answered 
quietly : “ He is very wise, for he finds it stupid 
here. Bon voyage, I say.” 

nevertheless, when Magni had gone, she went 
down to the further end of the garden and there 
wept long and passionately. The few days which 
followed she was both sad and irritable ; but by 
degrees she consoled herself and tried to find 
amusement in doing precisely all those things 
which hitherto had been forbidden to her. She 
went out entirely alone and strolled about the 
woods and fields, and even went so far as to go 
out with some of the fishermen in their boats. 
On her return from these wild expeditions, she 
listened with a stolid countenance to good old 
Perrine’s remonstrances ; and, as if to prove to 
the woman the utter uselessness of her interfer- 
ence, she did precisely the same things the next 
day. Once she went as far as Roscoff, and came 
home in a state of high delight because she had 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENXE. 


131 


seen a group of drunken sailors singing gay songs 
and reeling from tavern to tavern. Her old asso- 
ciations and instincts awakened at these sights 
and sounds, and she felt a vague restlessness and 
longing to resume the free and careless life she 
had led for so many years. 

Meanwhile the wintry blast had borne away 
every leaf from the trees, and the sun showed it- 
self at rarer intervals through the rain and the 
fog. Mimi could not continue her desultory ex- 
cursions, and it came to pass that a week at a time 
elapsed without her being able to put her foot 
over the threshold. 

At last one day she became utterly desperate, 
and in a moment of ennui determined to make an 
onslaught on the Chevalier’s library. In a corner 
she found some volumes which had not seen the 
light for twenty years ; they were romances of 
the last century — “ Gonsalvo de Cordova,” “ Es- 
telle,” and several others of the same stamp. 
Mimiycarried them off to her own room and read 
them eagerly. These fictions interested her in- 
tensely — not that she understood very much of 
the sentimental tenderness of Estelle’s lover, nor 
of the chivalric sentiments of the heroic servant 
of Isabella the Catholic ; but their extraordinary 
adventures, and the word love to be met with on 
every page, these portraits of young and charming 
cavaliers, fired her imagination and made her 
dream of a lover handsomer than ITemorin, braver 


132 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


than Graston de Foix, and more honorable and 
powerful than Gonsalvo de Cordova, the Great 
Captain. The remembrance of Celestin Piolot 
Avas nearly effaced by these noble forms ; Mimi 
thought of him with bitter disdain ; she thought 
of him as entirely beneath herself, with his ances- 
tors the smugglers,, and his talent for making 
locks, and his inheritance of twelve thousand 
francs. 

Tavo months elapsed in this way, and the pro- 
prietors of the manor Avere now expected almost 
daily, when Nicolas, one of the servants that had 
gone to Paris with the family, suddenly appeared 
one morning charged with orders from the Cheva- 
lier and commissions from Mademoiselle de Kerb- 
sejean. The Chevalier stated that his absence 
would be prolonged until the end of the winter. 
Irene sent all her New Year’s gifts in advance to 
every one, and Avrote to Mimi a most kind and 
friendly letter. These few lines contained none 
of the gushing enthusiasm so common in the cor- 
respondence between two young girls, but the let- 
ter breathed intense happiness in every line — the 
happiness of a person who is enjoying life in a 
thousand new ways. 

Mimi realized this in a vague sort of way, and 
said, with a sigh of regret not unmixed with envy, 
“ Ah ! How I should like to be in Paris myself ! 
Mademoiselle is very happy there — so happy that 
she does not once think of coming back ! ” 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


133 


That evening, in the twilight, Kicolas related 
all his experiences and adventures. The good fel- 
low was naturally loquacious, and he began eager- 
ly to describe the multitude of new things that he 
had seen. 

When I think of the life people live there,” 
he said in his simple fashion, “ I am filled with 
amazement. Animals and people never rest : the 
gentlemen pay visits all day and go to balls all 
night, so that the carriages are rolling about from 
one sun to another. But, thank Heaven, in Ma- 
dame de Kersalion’s house they have no such 
habits, and it is almost as quiet there as here. 
The house is in the middle of a fine garden near 
the village of Heuilly. When I say village, don’t 
imagine that I mean two or three streets with 
miserable little houses and a square in front of 
the church. By no meanSs At Heuilly there are 
superb wide streets, and the king has a chateau 
there. Madame de Kersalion’s house is not so 
large as this one, but it is filled with the most 
beautiful furnitui;e and silver and linen. I know 
all about it, for many is the time that I have 
helped the woman in charge. The rooms prepared 
for the Chevalier and mademoiselle are magnifi- 
cent. I could not begin to tell you all the things 
on the chimneys and etageres. It took me two or 
three hours every day, I know, merely to dust 
them. 

“When we first arrived there they had no 


134 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


company, but after that people began to come in 
crowds. All the ladies whom my mistress the 
countess used to know came to call on her daugh- 
ter as soon as they knew she was in Paris, and 
wished to show her all sorts of civilities. Every 
day heaps of invitations came, and my young lady 
has been to ever so many balls. She went at ten ; 
and I always went on the box with the coachman. 
I was allowed to stand in the hall, where I could 
see her go into the room with the Chevalier, and 
hear what people said when they saw her. My 
goodness ! You never heard any thing like it. 
There was just a buzz all round. We in the hall 
and antechamber could hear it, and it was glori- 
ous.” 

“ What did they say ? ” asked Mimi, who had 
seemed to be asleep in the corner of the fireplace. 

‘‘They said that mademoiselle was the most 
beautiful woman in France,” answered Nicolas, 
“ and I think they are quite right. People here 
did not think so, I suppose, only because they 
were in the habit of seeing her, and because too 
she never wore the beautiful toilettes that are se 
becoming to her.” 

“ What sort of toilettes ? ” asked Mimi againli 

“I don’t know how to describe them, I am 
sure. Her dresses are all covered with lace and 
flowers and pearls. Mademoiselle de Kersalion 
chooses them all, and then she dresses mademoi- 
selle with her own hands. But I must not forget 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


135 


to tell you that they have taken such a fancy to 
each other that they wish to live together always.” 

“ It is very natural,” said old Perrine. “ My 
dear dead mistress was a Kersalion, you know, 
and the nearest relative of these people.” 

“I beg your pardon, Dame Perrine,” inter- 
posed IN’icolas. ‘^You have forgotten the Duke 
de Renoyal.” 

“ I know nothing about him,” the good woman 
answered. “ I can tell you all about the Kerbse- 
jeans and their alliances, but I am not so au fait 
with the Kersalions.” 

‘‘The Duke de Renoyal!” repeated Mimi. 
“ Is he a great lord ? ” 

This question seemed to Mcolas both stupid 
and impertinent. He shrugged his shoulders and 
went on. 

“ Madame de Kersalion calls the Duke her ne- 
phew, or Gaston oftener still. As she never goes 
out on account of her ill health, he comes to see 
her very often. I always run to the gate to see 
him as he comes sweeping down the road with his 
beautiful coach and outriders — ^his powdered coach- 
man and footmen in livery. It is certain that 
even his Majesty the King has no more beautiful 
carriages than his.” 

Mimi at once pictured to herself a young man, 
haughty and elegant, surrounded by luxury and 
dressed like a prince in a fairy tale. The thought 
that in all probability he would marry Ir^ne 


136 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


crossed her mind, and, by a natural connection 
of ideas, she said suddenly : 

“ And C^lestin Piolot ? Did you ever see any- 
thing of him in Paris ? ” 

‘‘ I came near forgetting to say a word about 
that scatterbrain,” exclaimed Nicolas. “I can’t 
imagine how he did it, but I assure you he was 
really everywhere. We never turned the comer 
of a street that we did not see him ; he was always 
darting in front of the carriage, and once we near- 
ly drove over him. One day, when mademoiselle 
and my master came out of the Grand Opera, and 
I was looking for their carriage, I came face to 
face with him. He was gorgeous to behold — in a 
white vest, yellow gloves and with a beautiful 
gold pin stuck in his tie. I said ‘ good evening,’ 
but he did not choose to see me. The next day I 
saw him again. Our people had gone to Notre 
Dame, and I was on the box with the coachman 
holding an umbrella, because it was raining hard. 
Suddenly I looked round, and there was C^lestin 
Piolot following the carriage with his hat pulled 
away down over his nose ; and, when we got to 
Notre Dame, there he was again ; he had appar- 
ently found some short cut.” 

“ He must have been rather muddy ! ” said 
Mimi contemptuously. 

The next day, toward night — it was Christmas 
Eve — Dame Perrine herself laid the table in the 
room where the servants took their meals and 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


137 


spent their evenings during the winter. The sun 
had gone down amid clouds, and the flecking flames 
cast a wavering glow on the ceiling. Pierre, the 
old gardener, brought an armful of wood, which 
he threw into the chimney ; then, turning round, 
he said : 

‘‘ I have no heart to he gay this evening, for 
never before did we burn the Yule-log in the 
absence of the masters.” 

“ No, indeed, never,” said the good woman with 
a sigh. In former days there was always a great 
gala on Christmas Eve; and, in spite of all the sor- 
row this house has known since then, the salon has 
always been open and the long table laid in the 
dining-room. Even the year that the good God 
took to Himself the Countess and the two children, 
the collation was served just as usual, with lighted 
candles and flowers ; but it was sad to see the 
empty places, and poor little Mademoiselle Ir^ne 
wept when her uncle handed her the cake and 
bade her cut it as usual.” 

At this moment Mimi entered all in a shiver, 
and, curling herself in a deep chair in the corner 
of the fireplace, she said : 

“ It is frightfully cold. Dame Perrine ! It is 
hailing and snowing both at once ! ” 

Then, seeing the table laid with unusual care, 
the pyramids of fruit symmetrically arranged on. 
the four corners, and the candlesticks ornamented 
with fringed paper, she added : 


138 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


“ Are we going to have a fine supper, then ? ” 

“ Yes, just as we have always done,” answered 
Perrine. “ The Chevalier sent his orders ; he 
tells us to make ourselves comfortable. To-night 
we have a fine collation, and to-morrow we shall 
have turkey. More than that, he hade me bring 
up from the cellar certain bottles of good old 
wine, in which to drink the health of the Kerbse- 
jeans.” 

Mimi folded her arms under her shawl, curled 
herself into the corner of the window-seat, and 
watched with melancholy eyes the deserted, deso- 
late highway. All day long her mind had dwelt 
on Irene’s gayeties as recited by Nicolas, and in- 
voluntarily she compared her lot with that of Ma- 
demoiselle de Kerbsejean. A vague feeling of 
envy and of intense humiliation filled her heart. 
She could no longer endure the monotony of her 
life, and felt a bitter impatience in addition to her 
sadness. 

The old gardener placed the Yule-log on the 
fire, and Dame Perrine was arranging on the cen- 
ter of the table a five-storied Savoy cake, when 
suddenly Mimi, who seemed absorbed in melan- 
choly reflections, started to her feet and threw 
open the window, exclaiming : 

“ Hark ! hark ! I hear a carriage, and it is 
surely coming this way ! 

The noise of wheels came nearer and nearer, 
and through the gray shadows of the twilight the 


A THOKOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


139 


twinkling light of the carriage lanterns was soon 
seen. Every one ran to the gate except Mimi, 
who stood on the threshold of the door. A post- 
chaise came up the avenue at full speed and drew 
up before the door. 

“ Monsieur le Comte ! ” cried the old waiting- 
maid, lifting her eyes and hands to heaven in as- 
tonishment. 

The Count descended and shook hands with all 
his people, who crowded around him. 

“ But my daughter ? ” he said ; my uncle ? ” 
They are well,” answered Perrine with tears 
of joy. “Here is Nicolas, who has just brought 
us news of them.” 

“ Brought you news of them ? ” repeated the 
Count with evident anxiety and disturbance. 
“ Why, where are they ? ” 

“ They did not expect you, sir,” began Per- 
rine — “ they did not expect you before spring ; 
and, as mademoiselle was very sad at the delay, 
the Chevalier took her to Paris.” 

“ And it is all my fault ! ” exclaimed the 
Count ; I ought to have written.” 

At this moment he caught sight of Mimi, who 
came toward him with a low courtesy. 

“ Mademoiselle, I have the honor of wishing 
you a very good evening,” he said, lifting his cap 
with evident astonishment. 

“ You do not know me, sir,” answered the 
young girl with a merry laugh ; “ I am Mimi.” 


140 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


“ Is it possible ? ” he cried. How you have 
grown and improved, my chHd ! It is absolutely 
miraculous ! ” 

“ Come in,” she answered ; “ come in quick 
and warm yourself.” 

They entered the lower room, and the Count 
placed himself in the corner of the chimney with 
Mimi, while Perrine opened the rooms and lighted 
fires all over the house. 

“ Ah ! I am not sorry to be at home once 
more,” he said as he threw ofi his fur clo^k and 
fur-lined boots. “ Do you know, little one, that I 
nearly died of cold on this road in spite of all my 
precautions ? ” 

‘‘You must be fearfully tired too,” she re- 
plied, as she assisted him in unwinding the long 
cashmere scarf rolled around his neck. “How 
many thousand leagues have you traveled ? ” 

“I came by the shortest road, the lied Sea 
and the Mediterranean ; it is a matter of five or 
six weeks. When I reached Marseilles, and found 
that it was within the limits of possibility that I 
could reach home for Christmas, I threw myself 
into a post-chaise and traveled night and day. 
How on earth could I suppose that I should find 
no one here ? I wanted to surprise them, and I 
have been surprised myself with a vengeance. It 
is a great pity. To-morrow I will rest, and the 
next day I will start ofl; to Paris.” 

“ As soon as that ? ” said Mimi in a tone of 


A TnOROUGII BOHEMIENNE. 


141 


sincere regret. ‘‘Would it not be better tbat 
mademoiselle and your uncle should come here to 
you ? ” 

“ Perhaps it would,” said the Count, looking 
around. “ I am so glad to be here, and I should 
much prefer to have them at home. But the 
weather is so severe that I dare not have my uncle 
travel at his age ; and my daughter is not robust, 
although perfectly well.” 

“ But the Chevalier is perfectly well too,” an- 
swered Mimi ; “ he grows younger every day.” 

“ So much the better — so much the better. 
But no one will say the same of me ! ” 

Nevertheless, it would be true if they did,” 
said Mimi, turning her magnificent eyes full upon 
him. 

The girl’s words were entirely sincere, and to 
a certain point perfectly true. The Count had 
changed, but not to his disadvantage. The climate 
of India had softened the too vivid color of his 
complexion ; his face was thinner, while the obesi- 
ty which had threatened to overtake him had dis- 
appeared ; his figure was as slender now as that of 
a youth, and was really very elegant. Unfortu- 
nately, in other respects he had not improved, for 
in these four years Time had traced many deep 
wrinkles on his brow and almost whitened his 
brown hair. 

“Your figure is very youthful,” resumed Mimi, 
looking at him from head to foot ; “you are like 


142 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


the Chevalier. When we see his back, so straight 
and slim, we would take him to he not more than 
twenty.” 

At this moment Perrine came in. 

I beg your pardon,” she said, ‘‘ for leaving 
you, sir, before I had made you comfortable here; 
but I am compelled to keep my eye on the ser- 
vants. They do not know what they are doing, 
they are so perfectly delighted. And it is indeed 
a happiness to see you again, particularly at this 
season. Thank Heaven, the dining-room will not 
be dark, and cold, and closed to-night, after all. 
Mcolas is laying the table, and Pierre has put a 
Yule-log in that fireplace now, as well as down 
here. I shall have a respectable supper for you, 
sir, and things will soon go as smoothly as if we 
had known you were coming. Only one thing is 
lacking, and that is the presence of Mademoiselle 
and the Chevalier.” 

“ As it can’t be helped,” said the Count philo- 
sophically, as he lighted his cigar, “ we won’t say 
any more about it.” 

“ Supper will not be ready for nearly an hour, 
sir,” added Perrine ; ‘‘ would you not like to take 
a biscuit and a glass of wine, or some fruit, per- 
haps ? ” 

“ hTo, thank you, Perrine,” he answered. ‘‘ I 
want nothing now ; only be careful to see that 
the Bordeaux is well warmed, for this is cold 
weather.” 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


143 


“I will bring it up from the cellar this mo- 
ment,” she said, taking her bunch of keys. 

Although Monsieur de Kerbsejean loved his 
daughter very dearly, he had already recovered 
from his disappointment at not seeing her on his 
arrival, and, his naturally good temper having 
gained the ascendancy, he now began to talk with 
Mimi. The girl gave him an accurate and amus- 
ing account of all that had taken place in the 
neighborhood during his absence. She had a cer- 
tain spirited, droll way of talking that much di- 
verted the traveler, and she laughed until the 
tears came while telling him how Celestin Piolot 
had looked over his grandmother’s possessions, 
and the strange things he had discovered in that 
mysterious spot where the old woman hid away, 
by the side of her louis d’or, the dilapidated gar- 
ments of three or four generations. 

“And now. Monsieur le Comte,” she said, as 
she concluded her recital, “it is your turn to tell 
me something of your travels. You must have 
seen most extraordinary things.” 

“ By no means,” he answered. “ One always 
supposes that strange countries are full of won- 
ders ; but, upon my word, I have seen nothing 
of the kind.” 

“Then people who write travels tell a great 
many falsehoods ! ” cried Mimi. “ The Chevalier 
has read us the most marvelous accounts, and 
told us many curious things. I remember he said 


144 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


that at Bombay the women wore bracelets on 
their ankles and gold rings in their noses.” 

“ That is quite true,” he replied, laughing ; 
“and I brought some of this queer jewelry home. 
I will show it to you.” 

A moment later Mcolas announced that supper 
was served. Perrine said with a triumphant air : 
“I think my master will be satisfied.” 

The atmosphere of the dining-room was warm 
and perfumed. The old gardener had had time 
to cut some flowers from the green-house. The 
candelabras were a blaze of light, and the Yule- 
log crackled in the chimney. 

“ It is delightful here, v/ith one’s back to the 
fire and one’s face to the table,” said the Count as 
he seated himself. “But I can not sup alone. 
Come, Mimi, draw up your chair and sit there 
opposite me.” 

“ Yes, sir,” she said, coloring high with joy 
and pride, for this was the first time she had sat 
at the master’s table. 

The servants looked on in astonishment, and 
old Perrine was in a state of suppressed fury. 

A sojourn of several years in the English colo- 
nies had not caused Monsieur de Kerbsejean to 
forget certain of his old habits. He had, on the 
contrary, acquired the custom of sitting long over 
his wine. His brain was rarely affected by his 
libations ; he drank deeply, but after several hours 
at table showed no other effects than a little more 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


145 


animation. This Christmas Eve he ordered up 
various rare old wines, and, when he had carefully 
ascertained the improvement made in them by 
the lapse of the last four years, he was in a very 
lively state of mind. The Christmas supper was 
prolonged until midnight. Then the Count filled 
his glass anew, and raising it high above his head, 
cried out : 

“ To your good health, fair Mimi ! ” 

^‘To your happy arrival. Sir Count,” she an- 
swered, gayly. ‘‘ Ah ! how delightful it has been 
for me that you came to-night ! and how much 
amused I have been ! ” 

‘‘It is now time for me to retire,” he said, 
pushing back his chair. “ Good night, Mimi. 
Let me see your eyes to-morrow as bright as they 
are to-night.” 

Fifteen minutes later the young girl was slow- 
ly taking down her hair in front of her mirror, 
and through her open door she was holding a con- 
versation with Perrine, who slept in the next 
room. The good woman had by no means recov- 
ered from the shock of seeing Mimi Tirelon seated 
at the table opposite a Kerbs6jean, and a certain 
sharpness was apparent in her words and voice. 

“ What a misfortune ! ” she said — “ what a 
misfortune it was for Monsieur to arrive so un- 
expectedly ! Had he written, his family would 
have been here to receive him, and he would 
not have been reduced to your companionship.” 

10 


146 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


‘‘ Don’t be troubled,” answered Mimi, coolly ; 
“be bas not been in tbe least annoyed.” 

“He means to go away tbe day after to- 
morrow,” continued Perrine, “and of course be 
will spend tbe rest of tbe winter with bis family 
in Paris.” 

“Tbe Count said nothing of the time to me,” 
said Mimi hastily. 

“ That may be, but you will see. When be 
once gets there, be will decide to remain, you may 
be very sure.” 

“ If Mademoiselle and tbe Chevalier knew that 
be was here, they would return at once,” said 
Mimi, thoughtfully. 

“ Certainly,” answered Perrine ; “ but they 
know nothing about it, you see, and the Count 
will walk in and surprise them. How happy bis 
daughter will be ! ” 

“ And it is tbe day after to-morrow, then, that 
he means to go ? ” said Mimi. “ If it should be 
very cold, however, be would not move, I am sure.” 

“Very possibly ; but, in tbe mean time, say 
your prayers and go to bed. Good night,” added 
Perrine, putting out her light. 

Mimi crossed her room, and lifting tbe curtains 
looked out of tbe window. 

“ What glorious weather for traveling ! ” she 
exclaimed with a shiver. “ Although it is Christ- 
mas time, I see a cloud of white butterflies in the 
air. Do you hear, Perrine ? ” 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


147 


“If tlie snow melts as it falls, it will not 
amount to anything,” said the old woman, senten- 
tiously. 

“But it does not melt,” cried Mimi. “To- 
morrow you will see a lovely sight ; the ground 
will he all white, and everything will he frozen 
stiff. Good evening and good night.” 

She shut the door of her room, hut, instead of 
going to her hed, she seated herself at a small 
table, in the drawer of which was a hodge-podge 
of old pens, an almost empty inkstand, and some 
few sheets of paper blotted and tumbled. She 
selected the best among them, and began a letter 
to Mademoiselle Kerbsejean, announcing the ar- 
rival of the Count. When her letter was written, 
she sealed and addressed it in a most legible hand, 
then looking at the letter, the first she had ever 
written in her life, she murmured in a tone of in- 
tense satisfaction : “ If it is very cold, the Count 
will not start ; and, before he can go, in all proba- 
bility the others will be here ! ” 


XII. 

The next day, on rising. Monsieur de Kerb- 
s6jean saw through the windows the sky hung 
dark with clouds ; the country was all white with 
snow, the waves beat wildly against the rocks, and 
the sea was lashed to fury by the wind. The 


148 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


Count shivered as he surveyed this melancholy 
picture, and turning away he established himself 
in one of those luxurious chairs which are nearly 
as soft and capacious as a bed, and vowed that he 
would not move from the fire again that whole day. 
When breakfast was served, Mimi appeared ; she 
came from church fresh and radiant, and deter- 
mined to please. She had never dreamed of fasci- 
nating this man of forty-five ; but his fiattery and 
evident admiration had excited her, and she had 
a strong desire that he should continue to think 
her beautiful. Perhaps she already saw, as through 
a glass darkly, the vague possibility of gaining an 
influence over him, and of obtaining in that way 
certain things which she desired. When she ap- 
peared, Monsieur de Kerbsejean exclaimed with a 
beaming countenance : 

‘‘Good morning, Mimi. You have come just 
in time to breakfast with me ; but first come and 
warm yourself a little, and tell me what sort of a 
day it is outside.” 

“ It is horrible weather,” she answered as she 
took off her merino cloak and her little black 
straw bonnet. “ I am afraid my fingers are frost- 
bitten in spite of my woolen gloves. Just look 
here.” 

As she said this, she extended her slender dim- 
pled hands, and showed him the rosy tips of her 
fingers. 

“Poor little soul !” said the Count, jokingly. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


149 


‘‘It is like Russia. Your hands are frozen, and 
how is your nose ? ” 

“ My nose is all right, I fancy,” answered the 
girl with a merry little laugh, showing a double 
row of perfect teeth which looked like pearls. 

“ So much the better,” returned the Count in 
the same tone ; “ but we can’t be sure of the 
safety of that important feature if this cold 
weather should continue ; so to guard against any 
such misfortune I am going to give you something 
to protect it.” 

And he went at once to look among his trunks 
for a silk scarf, which he himself put around 
Mimi’s neck. 

“Thanks, sir,” she said in childish delight. 
“ Ah !* how beautiful it is, and how soft and 
shining.” 

She ran to a mirror and admired the effect of 
this gayly-striped fabric ; then she took it from 
her neck and twisted it into a turban round her 
head. 

“ Look, Sir Count,” she cried, turning around ; 
“ am I not pretty ? ” 

“ Ro — you are beautiful ! ” he exclaimed, en- 
thusiastically. 

She was indeed marvelously beautiful. With 
instinctive coquetry she raised her arms, and threw 
back her slender graceful form as if to catch the 
iloating ends of the scarf ; and at that moment, 
in her attitude and expression, there was some- 


150 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


thing that recalled the hold beauty of her mother 
the Bohemienne. 

Almost at the same moment Dame Perrine 
entered. 

‘‘ Has not Nicolas told Monsieur le Comte that 
breakfast was on the table ? ” she asked in a severe 
tone, looking at Mimi with disapproving eyes, and 
signing to her at the same moment to remove the 
fantastic coiffure that she was again- carefully ar- 
ranging at the mirror ; but the young girl- cared 
not a sou for this silent hint, and without even 
looking round she said calmly : 

“Look at me. Dame Perrine ; don’t I make a 
fine sultana ? ” 

“ Come on, silly one ! ” exclaimed the Count, 
rising. “You heard, did you not, that breakfast 
is on the table ? ” 

Mimi tossed her scarf on the back of a chair, 
smoothed her hair with another glance at the mir- 
ror, and said triumphantly as she passed in front 
of Perrine : 

“ Monsieur le Comte is very good to me. He 
wishes me to cheer his loneliness ; he has given 
me this scarf, and I love him with all my heart.” 

All the following day the country lay wrapped 
in its winding sheet of snow ; the cold was intense, 
and the Count, enjoying the luxuriously warm 
apartments of the manor, never once thought of 
the journey of which he had spoken. He, of 
course, would have been sadly wearied had only 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


151 


the honest face of Nicolas and the wrinkled coun- 
tenance of Dame Perrine met his eyes ; but Mimi 
was so gay that he did not for a moment find the 
day too long. 

Precisely the same affinities attracted him novv^ 
as always. A cleverer or more refined person than 
Mimi would not have pleased him half as well; 
this little girl assailed the lower side of his nature, 
and he enjoyed her society precisely in the same 
way that he had formerly enjoyed the society of 
the frequenters of the Cafe de Neptune. The 
girl, proud of her success, assumed all the airs of a 
spoiled child, and seemed to expand in the genial 
atmosphere of the Count’s familiar kindness. She 
fluttered around him, teased and cajoled him from 
morning to night, with not one thought save the 
fleeting amusement of the hour. She insisted on 
Monsieur Kerbsejean showing her all the curiosi- 
ties he had brought home with him, and together 
they opened a huge case packed with odorous fab- 
rics of strange Eastern designs and colors. The 
things had been collected without any especial 
discernment, and formed a strange medley which 
delighted Mimi’s soul for one whole morning. 
The Count having bidden her select what pleased 
her best, she took the silk for a dress (a deep 
rose-color embroidered in silver), a flagon of oil of 
sandalwood, a round fan made of peacock’s feath- 
ers, and a pair of wide bracelets of scarlet lacquer 
spangled with gold ; these things most attracted 


152 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


her, and she cared not a straw for the cashmere 
shawl the Count gave her to wear instead of her 
merino cloak. 

The favors thus showered on Mimi caused a 
flutter of astonishment among the servants in the 
house, and Dame Perrine was indignant as well 
as surprised. Respect closed her lips, hut she ex- 
pressed her mind most fully to her old comrade 
Pierre the gardener, and to the faithful Nicolas. 

Monsieur le Comte is too good,” she said to 
them, ‘‘ altogether too good ; he encourages her in 
all her familiar ways, when in reality he ought to 
he very much offended with her. This wild crea- 
ture is as disrespectful as possible all the time 
toward him. Good Heavens ! I just wish the 
Chevalier could hear her talk in this way ; he 
would set her down pretty hard, I tell you ! Ever 
since she has dined regularly with the Count her 
pride and arrogance are beyond belief. She won’t 
bear one word of reproof or remonstrance. I do 
not believe that Madame Gervais herself could 
manage her now. She has the most fantastic and 
extraordinary ideas in her head all the time. For 
example, she has taken a notion to sit up until all 
hours in her room after everybody is asleep in the 
house ; last night when I saw her light through 
the keyhole, I got up and looked to see what she 
was about ; and what do you think I saw ? Why 
she was cutting up that beautiful silk the Count 
gave her ! ” 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


153 


‘‘And she dared to put scissors to that?” 
groaned Nicolas. 

“Yes, my dear child, that is just what she 
dared to do ! She cut and slashed that beautiful 
satin right through the silver flowers — she who 
does not know how to cut out a kitchen apron 
even. But have patience ; this cold weather will 
not last long. The Count will soon be off to Paris, 
and then it will come to an end.” 

Two or three days later Mimi disappeared after 
dinner, and the Count took his coffee alone in the 
salon. Old Perrine went in with some excuse, and 
looked around the small table where Nicolas had 
placed the silver tray with liquors and all the 
necessary apparatus for smoking, not the vulgar 
cigar, not the bitter cigarette, but the long Turk- 
ish pipe. 

While Monsieur de Kerbsejean, reclining in his 
arm-chair in the corner of the Are, drank his 
coffee and slowly smoked his hookah in indolent 
enjoyment, Dame Perrine came close to his chair, 
and rubbing her hands said : 

“Are you not glad, sir, that the weather is 
changing ? By to-morrow I think there will be a 
thaw.” 

“ I see no sign of it,” replied the Count. “ I 
put my head out of the window just before dinner, 
and nearly lost my nose. The wind blows directly 
from the North, and I assure you that it was not 
a summer zephyr.” 


154 


A THOKOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


“ It is most unfortunate that this severe weath- 
er should come now, and keep you here like a pris- 
oner,” added Perrine. 

“ Yes, indeed,” he muttered sleepily, from the 
depths of his chair. 

But,” continued the good woman, “ the roads 
are not so had as was supposed. One of the coast- 
guards was here this morning ; he had just come 
from Morlaix, and said that beyond there the 
roads were perfectly good. Heaven grant that 
his account is correct, for you must be very im- 
patient to see your daughter.” 

“ I would give the world if she were here 
now ! ” answered the Count more energetically. 

At this moment the door was suddenly thrown 
open. In came Mimi like a whirlwind, and went 
directly to the Count. She stood before him for 
a moment, and then slowly turned round and 
round to show him the entire effect of her cos- 
tume. 

“ Good Heavens ! What a masquerade ! ” ex- 
claimed Perrine, throwing up her hands. 

“ Turn round once more, little one, that I may 
see you better,” cried the Count. And I thought 
that you would never know what to do with rose 
and silver silk ! But, upon my word, you have 
contrived to make a most bewitching ball-dress 
out of it. It is wonderfully becoming to you.” 

And he was right. Her glowing, insolent 
beauty was fully displayed by an extremely low- 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


155 


cut bodice ; her sleeves were a mere band with 
rose-colored floating ribbon ; her bracelets were 
pushed above her elbows after the fashion of a 
bayadere. To complete her costume, she had 
planted at the back of her head some of the pea- 
cock plumes from her fan, and to her belt she had 
fastened the chains of the enameled flagon. The 
whole effect, if bizarre, was none the less charm- 
ing ; she suggested a princess from out one of 
the old romances of the days of chivalry, dropped 
from the clouds into this old chateau. 

“ How lovely she is ! ” said the Count, turning 
toward Perrine as if to ask her admiration ; but 
the old woman, restraining her indignation with 
the greatest difficulty, answered coldly : 

“ I should say that the costume is somewhat 
light for the season. Mademoiselle Mimi runs the 
risk of taking a violent cold ! ” 

And the woman left the room as she uttered 
these words, with a sign to Nicolas to follow her. 

‘‘ That is very true, little one,” said the Count ; 
‘‘ you must be freezing with your bare neck and 
uncovered arms,” and, turning to the fire, he stirred 
it up a little. Come close to the chimney,” he 
added. 

“ Nonsense ! I am not afraid of the cold ! ” 
she answered ; and, as if to prove the truth of 
what she said, she took a fire-screen and used it 
as a fan. Presently she rose and glided to the 
center of the room, where she began to dance to 


156 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


the air of a bolero, which she sang in a clear, ring- 
ing voice. The steps she improvised were not 
correct, and her movements had more of vigor 
than grace. This species of pantomime was a 
reminiscence of her childhood. The screen served 
as a tamhorine ; she raised it above her head with 
a graceful curve of both arms, and hounded over 
the carpet with incredible fire and spirit. 

Strangely enough, her own movements and 
voice awakened in her all her slumbering instincts 
and a thousand vague regrets ; she dreamed of 
the enthusiasm that she might produce in appear- 
ing on the stage before a crowded house, in her 
beautiful rose and silver robe and her diadem of 
plumes. 

‘‘ Good ! very good ! ” cried the Count, beat- 
ing time with his foot and emitting great clouds 
of smoke through his nostrils. “ Upon my word,” 
he added, “ I did not expect to have a ballet and 
pantomime to-night.” 

“Ah ! It is rather fatiguing to dance and 
sing at the same time,” said Mimi, dropping ex- 
hausted into a chair. 

“ So I should suppose,” replied the Count. 
“ You are utterly used up, little one ! ” 

“ Just see how my heart beats,” she said, bend- 
ing toward him ; and taking his hand she placed 
it against the warm silk of her bodice. 

Indeed it does ! ” he answered, laughing 
heartily at her simplicity. “ But you must not sit 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


157 


there ; you are excessively heated and must not 
cool off too suddenly. You had best have some 
warm drink at once.” 

“ Yes — I should like it,” she said. 

The Count did not ring ; but going to the table 
he put sugar, rum, and w^ater into a cup, which he 
heated before the fire.. When this punch was quite 
hot he handed it to Mimi, who drank every drop, 
and gave the cup back with the simple words, ‘‘ It 
is good ! ” 

‘‘Now, little Mimi,” said the Count, “let us 
have a game of dominoes ; it will rest you after 
your exercise.” 

“ I am quite willing,” the girl answered gayly. 

The Count did not like any game which re- 
quired profound thought, but dominoes pleased 
him. Besides, Mimi’s way of playing amused him 
intensely. She laughed and clapped her hands joy- 
ously when she got a double six or double blank, 
and when she lost she was utterly wretched — 
wretched, too, in such a comical fashion that the 
Count shouted with laughter. This strange pair 
played dominoes the whole evening. When the 
clock struck twelve, Mimi rose, and, pushing aside 
the table, said with a profound courtesy : 

“ Sir Count, I wish you a happy New Year, 
followed by many others equally happy.” 

As she spoke she turned her pretty peachy 
cheek toward him for a kiss, which invitation he 
accepted most cordially. 


158 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


Is it possible ? ” he exclaimed. “ Is to-mor- 
row the first day of the year ? I had forgotten 
that.” 

‘‘No, not to-morrow,” answered Mimi, looking 
at the clock, “for ‘to-morrow’ is here. See, the 
New Year is one minute old.” 

“And I never thought of a gift for you,” 
added the Count, feeling mechanically in his 
pockets. 

“ Oh ! there is no hurry,” replied Mimi, laugh- 
ing ; “I can wait a little longer.” 

“I have been here eight days, then,” said 
Monsieur de Kerbsejean. “I never would have 
believed it ; it seems to me absolutely impossible. 
Never did a week pass so quickly before.” 

“ Have you not once looked at the almanac ? ” 

“ No, indeed, not once. Thanks to you, little 
sprite, I have been amused every moment of the 
time, and the. days have passed like hours ! ” 

On going to her room, Mimi stood silently be- 
fore the mirror for some minutes, then slowly 
walked up and down the room, looking at herself 
all the time, utterly regardless of the observation 
of old Perrine, who could see her from her bed in 
the next room. 

“ Look here, Mimi,” said Perrine at last, “ it is 
really a great pity to see a girl of your age, 
brought up in a house like this, with so little man- 
ners and judgment. Monsieur le Comte, who is 
goodness itself, overlooks all your folly and im- 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


159 


pertinence, and is even amused by them possibly ; 
but you have no idea of the trouble you are mak- 
ing for yourself. What on earth would the serv- 
ants think of you if they had seen you to-night 
ti’icked out like an actress ? What would all the 
villagers say ? I tell you all this, my poor Mimi, 
out of kindness ; and you are doing very wrong 
to allow yourself to be carried away by your pride 
and your vanity in this way. They cause you to 
be guilty of acts which will do you great harm 
some day.” 

The good woman went on for a half hour in 
this strain. From time to time she made a little 
pause, as if to await the effects of her discourse ; 
and finally, as it elicited not a word in response, 
and as Mimi had gone to a part of the room 
where she could no longer be seen, Perrine rose 
from her bed and looked in. 

To her astonishment, Mimi was sound asleep. 
The pink robe, the feathers, the bracelets, and the 
flagon lay in a shining heap on the floor by the 
bed, and the lamp smoked on the night table. 
Perrine looked at this disorderly picture for a mo- 
ment, then noiselessly extinguished the lamp, mut- 
tering as she returned to her room : 

‘‘ It is no use ; nobody ever made a white 
plume out of a crow’s tail ! ” 

The next day when Mimi awoke the sun was 
shining full in her window, and she heard the 
lowings of the cattle as they left their stables. 


160 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


This sound was enough to make her understand 
that she was very late. 

“ Good Heaven ! ” she exclaimed aloud, and 
jumped to her feet ; ‘‘ it must be nine o’clock.” 

“ It is a quarter of ten,” said a voice from the 
next room ; “ and make haste,” added Perrine, 
“for you are needed down stairs.” 

“ Who wants me — Monsieur le Comte ? ” asked 
Mimi, carelessly. 

“Not at all,” answered Dame Peri’ine, bus- 
tling in ; “ it was Madame Gervais who inquired 
for you ! ” 

“ Madame Gervais ! Is she here ? ” 

“Yes, little one, she is here, and the Chevalier 
and mademoiselle too. They all arrived this morn- 
ing before it was quite light.” 

“ Is it possible ? And I heard not one 
sound ! ” 

“ Mademoiselle, too, has asked for you several 
times. You ought to go down at once.” 

“ In a moment,” answered the girl. Then gq- 
ing to the mirror, she languidly brushed out the 
rich abundance of her glossy hair. 

“ Ah, sly-boots ! you wrote secretly to made- 
moiselle,” resumed the old woman, “ and that is 
why they all came back to join the Count.” 

“You see I did very wisely,” replied Mimi, 
with a constrained smile. “ They are all together 
again, and all is for the best.” 

“ Not so,” muttered Perrine between her teeth, 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


161 


“ not so. I think it would have been much better 
if the Count had gone to Paris ! ” 

‘‘ It is a fine day, is it not ? ” said Mimi, with 
a profound sigh. 

“ Yes, magnificent. The wind changed in the 
night, and a heavy rain fell, which swept away all 
the snow ; and this morning the sun rose clear 
and bright as if it were March. Outside the air 
is soft, and it will be lovely weather for walking 
at noon. Yes,” continued the old woman, with a 
glance from the window — ‘‘yes, and there are 
mademoiselle and her father in the garden al- 
ready.” 

Perrine left the room, and as soon as the door 
closed behind her, Mimi, cautiously hiding behind 
the curtains, looked down into the avenue below, 
and there saw Mademoiselle de Kerbs^jean lean- 
ing on her father’s arm. At' this sight a keen 
pang of jealousy wrung her heart, tears rolled 
down her cheeks, and she murmured in a tone 
of profound bitterness : ‘‘I^’ow he has his dear- 
ly loved daughter, and I may take refuge in a 
corner anywhere. He will never think of me 
again, and no one will take the smallest notice 
of me ! ” 

It was another half hour before she went down 
stairs. The family were just seating themselves 
at table. Mimi, hearing voices in the dining-room, 
stopped on the threshold and looked through the 
half -open door. The Count was standing between 
11 


162 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


his daughter and Madame Gervais, who were al- 
ready seated, and had not the least look of re- 
membering that only the evening before Mimi 
had occupied the chair now filled by the Chevalier. 
The young girl clearly saw that if she did not at 
once claim the position which the Count had ac- 
corded her, she would thenceforward be sent back 
to the servants’ table. She entered the room with 
a firm step and erect bearing, and went direct- 
ly to Irene, who welcomed her cordially and 
said : 

“You did well, little Mimi. It was a kind 
thought of yours to write to us. We came at 
once to surprise this dear naughty papa, who would 
not take the trouble to let us know when we might 
look for him. He tells me that you have been a 
great comfort to him in his loneliness.” 

The young girl made a deep courtesy and stood 
still by the table, looking gradually at the Count, 
who was for a moment much embarrassed ; then he 
said, with a sign to Nicolas to place another plate 
by the side of the Chevalier : 

“ Little Mimi, take that seat ! ” 

She did not wait for a second invitation, but 
glided into the chair with the most radiant de- 
light. 

Madame Gervais and the Chevalier started. 
Nicolas darted a terrified glance toward the pantry, 
where Dame Perrine was counting her sweetmeat 
pots. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


163 


Ir^ne, after her first astonishment, said gently : 

“ Dear papa ! It was very nice for him to have 
Mimi dine with him while we were away.” 

“ She is so bright, and so droll too when she 
pleases,” answered the Count hastily, looking at 
Mimi imploringly, as if he were begging her to 
lay aside the sedate air which she had so suddenly 
assumed. 

But she did not speak through- the whole break- 
fast, but sat quiet and silent. Her curiosity, more- 
over, was strongly excited by the turn the conver- 
sation had taken. The Chevalier was speaking to 
his nephew of the affection which the De Kersa- 
lion ladies had conceived for Ir^ne, and intimated 
that in future the two families would pass a large 
portion of each year together. 

The Count made no objection to this project, 
but at heart he was dismayed by it, and was in 
fact singularly disturbed by the idea of again 
mingling with people of the world. The Cheva- 
lier saw this, and hastened to add : 

Of course we shall be here much more than 
at Neuilly. Madame de Kersalion is convinced 
that this change of residence will be of great bene- 
fit to her health ; and her daughter asked but one 
thing, which is to be always with Ir^ne. Their 
reciprocal affection, their close relationship, and 
family interests have naturally led to these arrange- 
ments, which we trust will meet with your ap- 
proval, my dear Jean.” 


164 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


The Count nodded silently, and turning to his 
daughter said : 

“Mademoiselle de Kersalion was very pretty 
when I knew her years ago ; she resembled you 
somewhat.” 

“Ah ! dear papa, you flatter me,” cried Ir^ne. 
“Shall I sketch her for you ! Well, then, dear 
Louise is beautiful still. Her figure is beautiful ; 
she has lovely eyes and superb blonde hair. Un- 
happily, she insists on believing that she is an old 
mxiid, and dresses herself befitting that title — ^not 
a flower, nor a ribbon, nor a light dress ; her fichus 
are always thick, her robes always black or gray — 
not even a knot of blue or pink ribbon at throat 
or wrist.” 

“ She must be a dark spot in society,” observed 
the Count. 

“ In society ! Oh ! she never goes out. I 
could never induce her, not even once, to go with 
my uncle and myself to a ball or the theatre.” 

“ But at home ? ” 

“ She never makes any toilet for the people 
who come. My aunt De Kersalion rarely leaves 
her room. She is not precisely ill, but very deli- 
cate. Noise, fatigues, confusion, and people drive 
her crazy ; and for years she has never received 
any one — ” 

“Except the Duke de Renoyal,” interrupted 
Mimi heedlessly. 

“ Ah ! you know him then ? ” said the Cheva- 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


165 


lier, looking at tke girl from under his heavy 
brows. 

“ It was Nicolas who told us about him,” she 
answered in some confusion. 

‘‘ The Duke de Renoyal ! I remember him 
when he was no taller than that,” said Monsieur 
de Kerbsejean, pointing at the table. “ His mother 
was a Kersalion. He was a nice little boy — be- 
loved and spoiled — ” 

“He remembers you too,” interrupted the 
Chevalier. “ When we go to Paris you will re- 
new your acquaintance with each other.” 

The travelers had passed sixty hours in a post- 
chaise, and were naturally overwhelmed with fa- 
tigue. Immediately after breakfast Madame Ger- 
vais carried off Irene, insisting that she must rest ; 
and the Chevalier withdrew also to his own room 
to sleep for an hour or two. 

When Mimi found herself alone with the 
Count, she exclaimed gayly : 

“ At last, then, we can laugh a little.” 

“ I ask nothing better,” he answered, feeling 
suddenly as if a weight were lifted from his spirits ; 
“ but tell me, little one, why were you so serious 
during breakfast ? ” 

Because I saw out of the corner of my eyes 
that the Chevalier was frowning at me,” she an- 
swered saucily. 

^^Come here and get your New Year’s gift,” 
returned the Count, drawing from his pocket one 


166 


A THOKOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


of those lovely ivory boxes, incrusted with gold, 
which are made only at Bombay. 

Bonbons ! Ah ! thank you. I adore bonbons ! ” 
cried Mimi, opening the box ; then she added in a 
tone of intense disappointment : “ It is full of 
twenty-franc pieces.” 

“ Precisely ! ” answered the Count, with a 
hearty laugh ; “ there are francs enough there to 
buy sugar plums and many another thing besides, 
simpleton ! ” 

“I am very much obliged, sir,” 'said Mimi, 
dropping the box into her pocket with an air of 
utter indifference. 

“ Will you come out and take a little walk ? ” 
asked Monsieur de Kerbs4jean. “It is really de- 
lightful in the sun.” 

“ I should like nothing better,” answered the 
girl gayly ; “if the thaw has not made the road 
too muddy, we might go as far as the village.” 

“We can try at all events,” was the Count’s 
reply. 

They went out together. Mimi did not ven- 
ture to take the Count’s arm, but she walked close 
at his side and chattered like a young magpie. 
The air was spring-like ; a soft damp wind blew 
in their faces ; the sun had dried the shingly 
beach, and the fishing vessels anchored in the little 
harbor were raising their anchors and setting their 
sails ready to take flight once more. Mimi stood 
still for a moment and looked at them. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


167 


‘‘ Don’t you think,” she said, that it would 
he much nicer and far more comfortable to go off 
in one of those sail-boats than to pick one’s way 
through all these puddles and sharp stones ? ” 

“ I do indeed,” answered the Count, signaling 
to a sailor as he spoke. 

In a few minutes more they were floating on 
the tranquil waters of the bay. The Count drew 
out his watch. 

“ Half past twelve,” he said ; “ we shall have 
time to go- out to sea. Would you like it, little 
Mimi ? ” 

Like it ! ” she repeated in an ecstacy of de- 
light ; “ indeed I should ! ” 

This proposition shov/ed her that the Count 
v^as by no means so absorbed by the happiness of 
seeing his family again as she had supposed. She 
naturally concluded, therefore, that he would con- 
tinue to feel the same necessity for being amused 
by her as before his daughter’s arrival. Hor was 
she mistaken ; the habit was already fixed, and 
he was more under her influence than either she 
or he knew. 

Before the dinner hour Mademoiselle de Kerb- 
s4jean and the good uncle went down to the salon, 
thinking that they should find the Count waiting 
there for them. They there learned, not without 
some astonishment, that he was walking with 
Mimi. 

I will go a little way and meet them,” said 


168 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


Ir^ne, wrapping herself in her pelisse ; “ it is 
growing dark, and they must he here in a minute 
or two.” 

The Chevalier was left alone, and turned for 
solace to the fire, which he thoughtfully poked for 
a moment or two. As the wood blazed and the 
sparks flew up the chimney, he watched them with 
a sigh. In a moment Madame Gervais came in. 
She, too, was very thoughtful. Dame Perrine 
had been talking to her of the strange things 
which had taken place in the last week, and she 
was filled with misgivings and with a vague fore- 
boding of the unfortunate ascendancy which Mimi 
might establish — if indeed the evil were not al- 
ready done — over the Count. The matter ap- 
peared of such importance to her, and the danger 
so imminent, that she did not hesitate to speak to 
the Chevalier openly on the subject ; but he did 
not apparently share her apprehensions. 

“I know Jean,” he said; “his character is 
weak ; he is always under some one’s influence. 
I did hope, I must admit, that in these four years 
he would have become more elevated in his aims, 
that some ambition might have been awakened in 
him. I see, however, that I was mistaken ; no^ 
thing has changed about him except his figure and 
his hair. But, notwithstanding his narrow mem 
tal capacity and his weakness of character, he is 
utterly incapable of any baseness. I really see 
no objection to Mimi’s going out with him if he 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


169 


desires it ; she may keep him out of worse com- 
pany. Besides, all this can not last, for I must 
devote myself seriously to the task of establish- 
ing this girl. I must find her a good husband, 
even if I am compelled to double the dowry her 
Uncle Tirelon will give her.” 

It was almost night when the Count returned 
to the manor. Ir^ne had taken his arm, and Mimi 
followed them singing aloud. They gathered 
around the fire in the twilight before they went 
to table, and the Chevalier said to his nephew : 

‘‘If you had come in earlier we could have 
taken a look at the rooms, which I wish to put as 
soon as possible into the hands of the workmen.” 

“ What rooms ? ” asked the Count. 

“ Why, those of course which Madame de Ker- 
salion and her daughter will occupy in the spring. 
I gave the orders some little time ago, and the 
work would have been begun even had I remained 
in Paris and you in India. But, now that you are 
here, you can give your advice, and together we 
will keep the workmen up to the mark. There is 
a good deal to be done in the garden, too, and 
Irene particularly wishes a hot-house, to be en- 
tered through one of her windows, like the one 
at Neuilly.” 

“ Ah !• my dear uncle, who told you that ? ” 
cried Irene, coloring deeply, as if these words 
held some allusion. 

“ I guessed it, sweetheart,” answered the Chev- 


170 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


alier, with a knowing smile ; “ and when it is all 
in order, you can sit there with your dear Louise.” 

“ With my dear Louise,” said Mademoiselle de 
Kerbsejean ; “ah ! how happy I should be to see 
her.” 

Early the next day the Chevalier roamed over 
the whole house, making his plans, which in an- 
other week he began to put into execution. The 
best workmen for miles around were summoned ; 
and, while they were busy within, an army of 
laborers were at work outside. 


XIII. 

Less than a week after the return of the 
Kerbse jeans, Celestin Piolot arrived one night at 
the village, with a stick in his hand and a knap- 
sack on his shoulders. Although worn out with 
fatigue, he passed directly by his house, and pur- 
sued his way until he reached a spot from which 
he could see the manor. 

It was already dark, the wind blew, and the 
sea broke against the rocks with a hoarse roar. 
At the first glance nothing could be distinguished ; 
but in a few moments the heavy mass of the dark 
manor-house stood out, dotted here ^nd there 
with luminous points ; and farther off the tops of 
the forest trees rose to meet the sky thickly sown 
with shining stars. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


171 


This nocturnal sight seemed to fill Celestin 
with strange delight. Tears rose to his eyes, and 
he said aloud : 

“Now, at least, I can see her every day.” 

Then, all out of breath and hardly able to drag 
one foot after the other, he turned his face home- 
ward. Magni had bolted every door in the old 
house, but she recognized the voice of her young 
master, who called her by name after lifting the 
latch, and she ran hastily down with a lamp in 
her hand. 

“ Good heavens ! ” she cried ; “ who would 
have expected you to-night ! But it is all right ; 
the house is clear and all in order. Come in 
quick. The fire is not out, and without disturbing 
the neighbors I can give you something to eat.” 

“ I am much more in need of sleep,” answered 
Celestin, as he followed her wearily. 

“ But how thin and forlorn you look ! ” she ex- 
claimed, as she stirred up the fire, and turned the 
light of the lamp full upon him. ' “ Ah ! my poor 
boy, you have come back like the prodigal son ! ” 

Celestin shook his head, and answered with a 
bitter smile : 

“It is not pleasure, at all events, that has 
caused me to look thus.” 

“ Nor is it work, I am sure,” replied the good 
woman, looking significantly at the young man’s 
hands. 

“Ah!” he resumed after a moment’s silent 


172 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


examination of the room, “I like Paris better 
than here.” 

“ That I can easily believe,” grumbled the old 
woman, ‘‘for here you are at home.” 

Presently Celestin spoke again, with beating 
heart and in a trembling voice : 

“ What is going on here ? Have you seen the 
people at the manor ? ” 

“ Oh ! nothing new,” answered Magni — “ no- 
thing new, except that the Count is at home 
again. ” 

“ Indeed ! That is the reason, then, that Made- 
moiselle Ir^ne came home ? ” 

“You knew she was here, then?” asked Ma- 
gni in astonishment. 

“ I heard so,” stammered the young man ; 
“but you ought to know better than I. Have 
you seen her ? ” 

“I saw her only yesterday standing at the 
door with the Chevalier ; they were superintend- 
ing a band of workmen.” 

“ Are they going to build ? ” 

“ Not that I am aware of. But they are mak- 
ing great improvements. The painters and glaziers 
are there now, and they are in great need of a 
good man like yourself for the locks.” 

C41estin took no notice of this hint, but sat 
with his head on his hand by the table which 
Magni had pushed to his side, and answered the 
questions she addressed to him by monosyllables. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


173 


The next day, when the Chevalier went out 
to make his morning tour of inspection, he found 
at the door of the manor-house C41estin Piolot 
awaiting him. The young workman had resumed 
his hat and blouse, and carried his bag of tools 
under his arm. Notwithstanding his night’s rest 
and a good breakfast, cooked for him by Magni, 
he still looked very tired and pale ; his drawn 
features told a sad tale ; the mad passion which 
devoured him had left there traces which a casual 
observer would naturally confound with those 
made by excesses. The Chevalier was touched 
by compassion ; he thought that the follies of 
youth had impoverished and humiliated him, and 
that he had returned home humble and penitent. 

Good morning, my boy,” he said, extending 
his hand. “You have been in Paris ; I saw you 
there in the street two or three times, I am quite 
sure. I see by looking at you that your excursion 
has done you no good. You did well to return 
home. Tell me what your plans are, and tell me, 
too, if I can serve you in any way.” 

“ You are very good, sir,” answered Celestin, 
encouraged by this cordial greeting. “ I am told 
that you are repairing the manor, and I have come 
to ask if you have any work to give me.” 

“ More than you can do, my boy,” said the 
Chevalier eagerly — “ more than you can do ; but 
I think you ought to rest a few days before you 
begin.” 


174 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


‘‘ No, sir, that is not necessary : work will do 
me no harm — quite the contrary.” And Celestin 
looked about him as if to decide where he should 
at once begin. 

‘‘ I am really glad to see you so energetic,” 
said the Chevalier ; “ therefore you can go to 
work at once. Come this way.” 

At breakfast the good man told the story of 
how C41estin Piolot had appeared before him, and 
the commiseration which he had felt on seeing the 
pale, shrunken face, bowed shoulders, and almost 
squalid appearance of the young fellow. 

‘‘ Who knows,” he said, ‘‘ what has become of 
the gold pieces of that poor Cattel ? The grand- 
son has spent them all, I fear ; hut now he has re- 
formed. When he came to me to-day, he asked 
for work. I gave it to him, and in ten minutes 
he was settled down at work as if it were all he 
desired in the world.” 

On hearing these words Mimi laughed a low, 
gurgling laugh, and looked at Irene, who, how- 
ever, preserved an indifferent silence. Madame 
Gervais, however, spoke at once. 

‘‘ He is very skillful, I am told, and will prob- 
ably do very much better than any of your other 
men,” she said. “ I could not hear to see them 
touch those beautiful old locks in the salon.” 

The same day Mademoiselle de Kerhs4jean 
entered the room where Celestin was at work with 
several companions. She bowed to him very 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


175 


coldly, as one greets a person whom one scarcely 
knows, and to whom one has accorded no second 
thought, and then turned away in real, not af- 
fected indifference. The young man returned her 
greeting, but did not speak. It was the first time 
for months that he had heard the sound of her 
voice, which thrilled him from head to foot! The 
perfume from her garments caused him to feel 
faint and ill ; and when Ir^ne left the room, he 
dropped into a chair with his head in his hands, 
yielding to these ecstatic emotions. 

“ What is the matter ? ” said one of his com- 
panions, looking round at him ; is he sick ? ” 

“ No,” answered another ; “ he is tired, I fan- 
cy, for he is none too fond of work.” 

In the mean time Celestin blessed his lot and 
prayed to Heaven to prolong his happiness. Had 
all his wishes been gratified, every lock in the 
manor-house would have broken, one after another. 
This of course could not be ; yet he thought 
there was work enough to be done to occupy him 
up to the end of the winter. This brief period 
was really the happiest part of his life. The 
presence of Irene touched and soothed his trou- 
bled spirit. When he saw her pass, so serene and 
lovely in her maidenly beauty, he was tempted to 
fall down at her feet and worship her as a celes- 
tial vision ; but no indication of these secret 
transports appeared in his reserved demeanor. 

Madame Gervais herself, who watched him 


176 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


with coAsiderable distrust at first, ended by sup- 
posing him to be entirely cured of bis folly. As 
to Mimi, she no longer cared to penetrate bis 
thoughts, and took not the slightest notice of 
him. 

The girl continued to amuse the Count with 
her eccentricities, and had succeeded in placing 
herself under his special protection. When she 
feared Madame Gervais’s reprimands or Perrine’s 
scoldings, she took refuge with him, and then 
braved them openly. 

Monsieur de Kerhs4jean had not resumed his 
old habits ; he never went out in the evening, but 
he was so little with the members of his house- 
hold that they would hardly have missed him had 
he done so. He rose late, smoked a portion of the 
day, and never joined his family except at meals. 
After dinner he played dominoes with Mimi, and 
sustained, not without considerable exertion on 
his part, a brief conversation with the Chevalier, 
spoke in an affectionate manner to his daughter of 
the rain and of the weather generally, and retired 
punctually at ten o’clock. 

Several weeks elapsed in this way, and it was 
now the middle of February. There was a feel- 
ing of spring in the air — an occasional soft balmy 
whiff that suggested all sorts of growing things. 
The works, executed under the eyes of the Cheva- 
lier, were going on rapidly. The workmen had 
completed the new hot-house, and the gardener 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


177 


had filled it. A rustic fountain was at one end, 
and a huge magnolia stood glossy and superb on 
either side of this fountain, while violets were be- 
ginning to bloom by the side of the narrow path 
that led through the building. The day that all 
was completed Irene dragged her father thither 
to admire it. 

“ Dear papa,” she said tenderly, “ we will have 
here some of the plants you liked when you were 
away from us so long. Would you not like to sit 
with me under a palm-tree ? ” 

‘‘ Certainly I should like it,” he said, drawing 
aside a little that Mimi might pass. The girl 
looked about with an indifferent, rather contemp- 
tuous air, and said in a low voice : 

‘‘ Well, is this the great mystery ? Is this all 
the reason that we were told never to come in 
here ? I see nothing but a few green things, some 
stones, and a good deal of glass. The place looks 
to me, in fact, like a huge lantern.” 

The Count seemed to regard this comparison 
as deliciously funny ; he nodded to Mimi, and said 
to his daughter : 

“ She is very amusing, is she not ? ” 

Mademoiselle de Kerbsejean sadly dropped 
her father’s arm and turned away. The Cheva - 
lier now joined them, and his arrival put a bridle 
on Mimi’s tongue ; for, notwithstanding her nat- 
ural audacity, she had never yet found courage to 
laugh and jest in his presence. The calm gaze of 
12 


178 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


astonisliment he riveted upon her, on the few oc- 
casions when he had heard her speak without be- 
ing first addressed, was quite enough to repress 
her. As soon as he appeared, therefore, though 
offered a chair by the Count, Mimi left the con- 
servatory, and seated herself on the steps outside, 
with her arms wrapped in her shawl and her feet 
stretched out in the sunshine. 

In a few moments Monsieur de Kerbsejean 
lounged out and joined her. Irene followed him 
with her eyes, and, turning to the Chevalier, she 
said with a sigh : 

“ Poor papa ! he has been so long accustomed 
to an active life that his present repose seems 
dullness to him, and I fear that he is tired of 
us all.” 

‘‘ You have noticed this, then ? ” asked her 
uncle in a tone of tender pity. 

“ Alas ! yes, from almost the first day of his 
return. He loves us, of course I know that per- 
fectly well ; but our society is not enough for 
him ; he is in perpetual need of other amusement. 
He is not sad or quiet by nature, and the very fact 
that he likes to have Mimi always near him, that 
he enjoys her gay chatter and little jokes, shows 
that he likes noise and confusion.” 

The Chevalier did not speak for a minute or 
two, and then he said suddenly : 

‘‘ I see but one thing to do, and that is to 
carry him off to Paris.” 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. I79 

“ Ah ! ” murmured Irene, could we go 
soon ? ” 

In a week at the latest.” 

“ In a week ! ” cried his niece in astonishment. 

“Would you prefer to make it later, then?” 
asked the Chevalier, with a smile that brought the 
color to Irene’s cheek. 

Dropping her long lashes over her eyes, she 
said quietly : 

“ It is for you to decide. I will obey you in 
this, as in all things.” 

“You will be overjoyed to see your dear 
Louise, will you not ? Go, my child — go and tell 
Madame Gervais our plans.” 

“ Oh ! she will be delighted, because she loves 
me so much that she is always pleased with all 
that pleases me.” 

The Chevalier went to his nephew, led him 
aside, and, walking up and down the terrace, in- 
formed him of the impending trip. He looked 
for some opposition, but to his surprise the Count 
made none. On the contrary, he seemed much 
pleased at the prospect, and he replied without 
hesitation : 

“ Let us go to Paris by all means ; the journey 
will be agreeable to every one. Young girls are 
never so happy as when they are flying about 
from place to place.” 

“ I believe Ir^ne will be very glad to go back 
to Paris,” said the Chevalier gayly. 


180 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


There was no time for further discussion, and 
by a tacit understanding the subject was avoided 
that evening at table in Mimi’s presence. 

The next morning Madame Gervais was down 
stairs at an unusually early hour, and met the 
Chevalier in the hall. 

What is the matter ? ” he exclaimed ; “ is 
Ir^ne ill ? ” 

“ No, thank Heaven ! she is well and asleep. 
I come down hoping to find you. I wanted to tell 
you of a matter that troubles quite as much as it 
astonishes me. Last evening, when Mimi entered 
her room, she was in a state of the greatest de- 
light ; and she said to Perrine : ‘ How shall you 
like being left here all alone ? for we are going to 
spend the last days of the Carnival in Paris ! ’ ” 

‘‘ Why, who on earth talked of taking her ? ” 

“The Count, apparently.” 

“ Then he must tell her to the contrary, for 
Mademoiselle Mimi will stay behind, I assure 
you.” 

“ It would be better for us all if you found 
some other home for the girl,” answered Madame 
Gervais ; “ for I really fear that she will sooner or 
later bring some great trouble upon us. In my 
opinion she can not remain here without risking 
the happiness of your family. Excuse my plain 
speech, but this is no time for ceremony.” 

“ I do not understand you in the least ! ” cried 
the Chevalier, in a state of bewilderment, “ Ho 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


181 


you mean that there is some love affair going on 
between herself and some one of the workmen ? ” 
Was there ever such blindness ! ” murmured 
the governess under her breath. 

‘‘What do you suspect?” urged the Cheva- 
lier. 

“I suspect nothing — I see clearly.” After a 
moment’s hesitation she added : “ I see the Count’s 
very great weakness.” 

“I admit all that,” answered the Chevalier 
tranquilly ; “ but I know my nephew, as I have 
before told you. You can not attach any impor- 
tance to what he does. Formerly he spent his time 
at the Cafe de Neptune, in the company of his 
friends the coast-guards : to-day he spends morn- 
ings and evenings in the society of Mademoiselle 
Mimi, but when he loses sight of her he will forget 
her in two or three days.” 

“I do not agree with you,” murmured Ma- 
dame Gervais — “ I do not agree with you in the 
least.” 

The Chevalier decided that an explanation was 
necessary with his nephew, and the sooner the 
better. He went at once to the Count’s room, 
and found him in his dressing-gown and slippers, 
giving some important directions to Nicolas, who 
Avas on his knees in front of a huge trunk. 

“ Beginning to pack already ? ” said the Cheva- 
lier ; “ you are indeed taking time by the fore- 
lock.” 


182 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


“ I was measuring the trunk. Yes, certainly, 
Nicolas, it can go with us.” 

The Chevalier made a sign to the servant, who 
at once left the room, and then, turning to his 
nephew, he said : 

“ What on earth do you want with an edifice 
like that? It would fill up the entire imperial 
of a diligence.” Then he added quietly: ‘‘We 
travel post, you know, in the berlin.” 

“ But the berlin has but four seats ! ” 

“ And what then ? ” asked the Chevalier. 

“ Why, I don’t see how we can all go in the 
berlin.” 

“ And why hot ? Ir^ne and Madame Gervais 
on the back seat, and we two in front.” 

“ But Mimi — where should we put her ? ” 

“We shall not put her anywhere. We shall 
leave her precisely where she is. Do you mean 
that you thought of taking that child? How ut- 
terly preposterous ! ” 

Monsieur de Kerbsejean shook his head with 
the air of a man who does not care to discuss a 
question on which his mind is fully made up. 

“ It can not be,” continued the Chevalier. 

“ And why not, pray ? ” exclaimed the Count 
angrily. 

“ Do you ask me such a question seriously ? ” 
asked the Chevalier, shrugging his shoulders. 
“ Mademoiselle Mimi is a person who will not spend 
her whole life with us ; she would be utterly out 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


183 


of place in the society in which we move. It was 
wrong— I see my error now in admitting her to 
our intimacy ; and I think that this will be an 
excellent time to break up habits which can not 
continue.” 

The Count had changed countenance at this, 
and was evidently annoyed and embarrassed. In- 
stead of replying to the point, he said : 

‘‘ No one here loves that poor child ; I am 
well aware of that fact, which is one reason the 
more for me to protect her. I promised her that 
she should go to Paris, and I shall keep my 
word.” 

“ Indeed ! ” interrupted the Chevalier coldly. 
‘‘ I should say that you were a little out of your 
head. What would you do with that girl when 
you arrived at Madame de Kersalion’s ? By 
what name or title would you present her ? What 
sort of appearance would she make in a salon ? 
And pray how would it sound to hear the Kerbse- 
jean family announced, and — Mademoiselle Mimi 
Tirelon ? A fine name, upon my word ! ” 

“She can change it,” said the Count sulk- 

ily. 

At these words the Chevalier gazed fixedly at 
his nephew. He could not believe his ears. He 
suddenly saw the empire which Mimi had ac- 
quired over this man, and the consequences which 
might arise from this monstrous folly. He con- 
trolled himself, however, and after the first mo- 


184 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


ment he concealed his indignation, and the Count 
could believe that, even if his uncle had heard, he 
had not understood. 

There was a long silence ; then the Chevalier 
said : 

I have been putting olf from day to day an 
important communication which I had to make to 
you : it is in relation to the establishment of your 
daughter.” 

‘‘ You have some match in view, then ? ” 

‘‘Yes, and a very brilliant one. We will talk 
of this later, however,” replied the Chevalier, 
rising. 

Madame Gervais was waiting in the salon. 

“Well?” she said, going toward the Cheva- 
lier. 

The worthy man sank into a chair, suffocating 
with astonishment and indignation. 

“You were right,” he exclaimed ; “this girl 
has bewitched my nephew.” 

“ She meant no harm,” answered the governess, 
“ and has not the least idea of what she has done. 
Pride, not unmixed with jealousy, has influenced 
her ; she wished to share with Irene the Count’s 
affection. Without knowing it, she has gone fur- 
ther than she intended. Be assured that she has 
no suspicion of the real sentiments he entertains 
toward her.” 

“But such perverse innocence is as bad as 
vice ! ” cried the Chevalier. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


185 


‘‘ And the Count insisted that he would take 
Mimi to Paris ? ” continued Madame Gervais. 

The Chevalier nodded. He really did not dare 
repeat to Madame Gervais the words which had 
so startled him, and he said simply : 

Who can say how far this folly may go ? 
As soon as I am certain that my suspicions are 
well founded, I shall take away my niece at once, 
and her father will never dare to ask me for her. 
But, thank Heaven ! the time is not far off when 
she will have another protector.” 

Ir^ne entered at this moment. 

“ What has happened ? ” she said, after hav- 
ing embraced her uncle, ‘‘ you look so solemn, and 
Madame Gervais is very sad ! ” 

‘‘ Monsieur le Chevalier is much annoyed,” said 
the governess simply. “ This journey of which 
we were speaking may not take place — ” 

And you will not see your dear Louise as 
soon as you hoped, my child,” said the Chevalier, 
drawing his niece toward him, and kissing her 
brow. 

‘‘ It is only a happiness deferred,” she answered 
half sadly. 

There was nothing more said of going to Paris 
for the remainder of the winter, and things went 
on to all appearance without any change at the 
manor. 

But contentment and peace did not reign in 
all hearts. Monsieur de Kerbse jean’s face indi- 


186 


A THOEOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


cated at times the restlessness of an ungratified 
passion; and the Chevalier, who watched him with 
restrained anger and contempt, saw that he was 
gradually becoming very unhappy. 

As to Mimi, she suddenly grew strangely 
negligent of the Count, and no longer took any 
pains to please him. Either she was convinced of 
her power, or she was simply weary ; and a sort 
of apathy succeeded her turbulent gayety. Ir^ne 
alone was the same ; her serenity was unimpaired. 
She bore on her brow the seal of a happy destiny, 
and her air commanded respect, admiration, and 
love. 

The Chevalier was determined to send Mimi 
away. The Count suspected this design, and 
neglected no opportunity to make his uncle under- 
stand that he himself intended her to remain a 
fixture at the manor-house. A certain secret bit- 
terness existed in the relations between the men 
of the house, which would have burst its boun- 
daries undoubtedly if the most unexpected catas- 
trophe had not changed the whole aspect of 
things. 

One morning the news of the revolution of 
February and the overthrow of Louis Philippe 
reached the house. A single journal brought 
the vaguest possible details, and predicted great 
misfortunes. The next day brought confirmation 
of all these disasters. The pillage and burning 
of Neuilly were fails accomplis. The most ap- 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


187 


palling excesses had been committed, and the 
number of victims had not yet been ascertained. 

The courier had brought no letter from the 
Kersalion ladies, and this silence was very hard to 
bear. Mademoiselle de Kerbsejean was in tears ; 
the Chevalier, in mortal anxiety, determined to 
go to Paris if he had no news from their relations 
the next day ; and Madame Gervais was too much 
disturbed herself to be successful in keeping up 
Irene’s spirits and courage. 

The intelligence of the revolution produced a 
great excitement among the men at work in the 
manor. They disappeared at once, and showed 
no intention of resuming their labors. l!^ever 
had the Cafe de N^eptune been so crowded. 
Speeches were made by tipsy orators, mounted on 
tables ; and from morning until night the walls 
rang with patriotic melodies. On the afternoon 
of the third day Celestin Piolot presented himself 
at the manor decorated with a tricolor cockade, 
and with a number of newspapers in his hand ; 
he came to offer his protection to the family. 

“'I have received good news,” he said with an 
air of great importance ; ‘‘ there is every proba- 
bility that Ravachon will be sent to this depart- 
ment with very extended powers.” 

N'otwithstanding his anxiety and the gravity 
of the position, the Chevalier could not restrain a 
smile. 

‘‘ Your friend the poet ? ” he cried. “ Upon 


188 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


my word, it strikes me he would be a singular 
man for the position.” 

‘‘He writes just as good prose as he does 
verses,” said the young man, gravely. 

“ Oh, I do not doubt it ! ” 

“With his capacity he will climb high ; of that 
I am very sure. From this day out his chances 
are of the best. He has intimate friends in the 
government. When he arrives I will present him 
to you, if you desire it.” 

“Thanks/’ said the Chevalier. “I have no 
favors to ask of him. All my ambition now is to 
live quietly among my family. It is to be hoped 
that people who, like us, are totally out of politi- 
cal and public life, will be let alone.” 

“ The people will not abuse their victory ! ” 
replied Celestih, with great dignity, and there- 
upon made a bow and retired. 

As he was going out he caught sight of Irene’s 
pale face at a window. He started, and mur- 
mured half aloud, his heart swelling with pride 
and joy : 

“ Fraternity is no longer a mere word ! Pre- 
judices are abolished, and I am the equal of the 
Kerbsejeans ! ” 

That same night at twilight the whole family 
were gathered about the fire in the salon. Ir^ne, 
Madame Gervais, and the Chevalier, sat a little 
apart ; the Count, buried in his deep chair, seemed 
to be sleeping with his eyes open ; and Mimi, seat- 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENXE. 


189 


ed on a cushion in the corner of the chimney, 
yawned behind a newspaper that she had folded 
into the shape of a screen. A violent pull at the 
bell interrupted this silence and made every one 
start. At the same moment the dogs barked furi- 
ously in the court, and the Chevalier’s terrier 
rushed toward the door with a wild yelp. 

“ There are strangers at the gate,” exclaimed 
Irene. 

The gentlemen both started to their feet, while 
Mimi, looking slowly round, said : 

‘‘ Ah ! we are to have company, it seems ! ” 

‘‘ No one will open the gate without an order 
from me,” said the Chevalier. ‘‘ Remain here, all 
of you. I will go down and see who it is. In 
the days of the first republic unexpected visits 
were only too often received.” 

He took his hat and went out, Ir^ne following 
him as far as he would permit. Nicolas and the 
gardener were waiting with lanterns at the gate, 
which was not more than a hundred feet from the 
house. 

Irdne, on the threshold, listened with her heart 
in her mouth ; then she uttered a stifled cry and 
rushed back to the salon. She could not speak, 
and she trembled from head to foot ; but her face, 
though pale, was radiant with joy. She sank into 
a chair at the side of Madame Gervais, and stam- 
mered : 

“ I do not know, but I believe I recognized — 


190 


A THOEOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


in fact, I think that there are friends at our 
gate.” 

Before she could explain herself more clearly, 
the Chevalier entered, having on his arm an elder- 
ly lady. Behind them were a younger lady and 
a gentleman. 

“ Aunt ! dear Louise,” cried Mademoiselle de 
Kerhs6jean. 

Many were the embraces and kisses. In the 
mean time the Chevalier presented the young 
man to his nephew, saying : 

“My dear Jean, this is the Duke de Renoyal, 
whom you would not have recognized, probably, 
without this introduction.” 

Monsieur de Kerbsejean extended his hand to 
the young man, and went forward to welcome the 
ladies. When every one was comfortably settled 
around the fire, the Chevalier begged for an ex- 
planation of this sudden appearance of these be- 
loved relatives. The old lady took it upon her- 
self to answer these questions and make the re- 
quisite explanation. 

“ Do you know that my house at Neuilly is 
in ashes ? ” she began, in her thin, sad little voice. 
“ When we left the torches had been applied ; we 
heard the shouts of the incendiaries and the roar 
of the flames, which in fact lighted our road for a 
mile or more. I can not talk to you of the horrors 
of these last days. You will see it all in the jour- 
nals. I will only tell you that at the sight of these 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


191 


ragged bands, which came in every direction with 
all sorts of arms, I was so afraid that I could not 
stay in my room. Strength was given me, and I 
came down stairs for the first time for years. 
With the first hint of danger my nephew had 
come to me with a number of his servants ; they 
barricaded the doors and pointed guns from all 
the windows ; but I did not care to try a siege, 
and begged Gaston not to risk his life in our de- 
fense, but to take us away at once if it were pos- 
sible. It seemed to me that we could never go 
far enough from the capital of the civilized world ! 
Louise was not so terrified as myself, and I hon- 
estly think would have liked to face the enemy ; 
but when I spoke of taking shelter in Brittany, 
she was in greater haste even than myself to de- 
part. My nephew did not hesitate to accompany 
us, and together we crossed this disturbed and 
unhappy country. I assure you that it is neither 
agreeable nor convenient to travel in the territory 
of the republic. We were obliged to exhibit our 
passports every few minutes, I might say, or at 
all events every few miles. Our passports were 
by no means correct, but fortunately the people 
who examined them could not read, and Gaston 
gave them explanations which proved that we 
were not imperiling the safety of the country by 
our hurried journey. When we reached Morlaix 
we could get no horses ; we were told that we 
must wait until late to-morrow. We therefore pre- 


192 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


f erred to leave our carriage there and hire one of the 
vehicles of the country. This rickety thing broke 
down a half league from here, and we decided to 
make the rest of our journey on foot. Just think 
of it ! I have not for several years walked across 
my room. But I was so happy at being near you 
that I did not once feel my fatigue.” 

“ Dear aunt, had we only known,” exclaimed 
Ir^ne, “we would have gone to meet you ; but we 
had no idea of the happiness in store for us.” 

“ Do you know, my child, that we have made 
wonderful plans on our journey ? ” said Mademoi- 
selle de Kersalion finally. “ My cousin wishes to 
exchange his hotel in the Faubourg Saint-Germain 
for some old chMeau near the sea, and my mother 
has decided to buy a place in this vicinity and 
establish herself permanently here in Brittany.” 

“ But where is the need of all these changes 
and acquisitions ? ” replied the Chevalier gayly. 
“ There is room for everybody here ; and, if there 
is not, we will add a wing to the manor. My 
dear Duke, such is Breton hospitality, and I hope 
you will not refuse it.” 

“ On the contrary. I accept it with a most 
grateful heart,” replied the young man, much 
moved. 

“ Fortunately, we have already turned the 
matter over in our minds,” continued the Cheva- 
lier in the same jesting tone ; “ and, while the new 
wing is building, you must all be content with the 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


193 


apartments which have just been restored and re- 
furnished. Ir^ne seems to have had a presenti- 
ment of what was going to happen, for she has 
hurried the workmen on, so that everything is now 
ready and waiting for you.” 

‘‘Yes, aunt,” said Irene, drawing a low seat 
to the feet of the old lady, “ you can go, whenever 
you are ready, to your rooms. Perrine and your 
own maid will soon arrange things as you like 
them, and you will forget that you are not in 
Paris. Your meals shall all be served in your own 
dressing-room.” 

“ By no means ! ” cried the old lady. “ I do 
not intend to take possession of my sofa again. I 
shall dine at the table with you. The air of this 
country seems to have restored my strength, and 
I feel perfectly well ! ” 

An hour later Nicolas threw open the folding- 
doors, and announced dinner. Monsieur de Kerh- 
sejean offered his arm to his aunt, and the Cheva- 
lier took in Mademoiselle de Kersalion, while 
Irene was left to the Duke. He approached her, 
and said in a low voice : 

“ When you were at your aunt’s I occasionally 
had the pleasure of taking you into dinner ; may 
I do so again ? ” 

She answered with a timid glance, and laid her 
hand on his arm. They walked slowly into the 
dining-room, she with downcast eyes listening to 
something he was whispeiing. 

13 


194 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


Then Mimi came out of the corner where she 
had sat unseen ^ind shrouded by the window cur- 
tains. The girl felt that she was utterly forgotten. 
She hesitated for a moment, and then glided into 
the dining-room, and stood behind the Count. He 
turned toward her and said in a low voice, while 
the others were taking their seats : 

“ You can not dine with us to-day, poor little 
Mimi. But do not be vexed ; it will not last long, 
I assure you ! ” 

Madame Gervais had foreseen this complica- 
tion, and she was waiting in the anteroom. 

“Come, Mimi,” she said, going forward to 
meet the girl as she left the dining-room with 
a dismal countenance ; “come and dine with 
me.” 

“ Thank you,” answered the girl without stop- 
ping ; “ I am not hungry.” 

Madame Gervais tried to arrest her fleet steps, 
but she would not stay, and ran lightly up the 
stairs. When Mimi entered her room, she sank 
on a chair and burst into a wild tempest of tears 
— ^tears of rage and fury. Never had her heart 
been so full of bitterness ; never had she felt so 
insulted and humiliated. She realized for the flrst 
that, notwithstanding the influence she had un- 
doubtedly acquired over the Count, her position 
was an inferior one, and that in the eyes of these 
strangers — and this thought wounded her more 
than anything else — she was absolutely without 


A THOKOUGII BOHEMIENNE. 


195 


consequence. It seemed to her that these stran- 
gers had come to take her place in the family. 

She remained up stairs alone for a couple of 
hours, in the darkness and cold. How much long- 
er she would have stayed can not be known ; for 
all at once there came a light tap at the door. 
She did not answer, thinking that it was Perrine 
or Madame Gervais ; then, as the door was gent- 
ly pushed open, she called out with some impa- 
tience : 

‘‘Who is that?” 

“ It is I, Mimi,” answered the Count. “ Where 
are you, my poor child, and what are you doing 
here without a light ? ” 

“ hTothing,” she said, going to him and taking 
his hand to guide hina. “ It is indeed very dark 
here, but I will light a candle.” 

The Count shivered at the touch of this cold 
soft hand ; his dull senses were touched, and he 
murmured with a sigh : 

“ Oh ! my darling little Mimi.” 

“ Sit there,” she said, pushing him toward a 
chair, and then proceeded to light two candles on 
her toilette table. 

The Count was so disturbed that he pulled his 
chair to the fireplace, and extended his hands as if 
to warm them, although there was not a spark of 
fire ; and he said without looking at Mimi : 

“ How bored I have been this evening ! ” 

“ And yet you were in very grand company,’\ 


196 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


she said coldly — “ two great ladies and a noble 
lord. You ought to have found it very charm- 
ing.” 

“ I dare say ; but they are far too clever for 
me, and I was very uncomfortable. Look here, 
Mimi, I like to be here with you a thousand times 
better ; and I would rather hear your chatter 
than all that intellectual conversation.” 

“ What were they saying ? ” 

“ How can I tell ! They were talking of a 
thousand things, and changed the subject so sud- 
denly that it was impossible to follow them. I 
remember, however, that Mademoiselle de Kersa- 
lion spoke of you.” 

“ Of me ! Has she seen me ? ” 

“ Yes ; when you left the room she said your 
eyes were Moorish and magnificent.” 

“ And the Duke ? ” 

“ He did not say anything.” 

Mimi was sitting with her arm on the toilette 
table. She turned to the mirror and contemplated 
her velvety eyes, her lips like a pomegranate blos- 
som, and the graceful contour of her head and 
face. Then turning toward the Count, she said 
coquettishly : 

“ Tell me, am I pretty ? ” 

“You are beautiful !” he exclaimed with en- 
thusiasm ; “you are beautiful enough to drive a 
man out of his senses.” 

“ Really ! ” she said, throwing her head back 


A THOROUGH ROHEMIENNE. 


197 


with a haughty air. Am I really so beautiful ? 
So much the better for me,” she added with a 
laugh. 

The Count saw that she had not understood 
him, and that she had no suspicion of the passion 
which consumed him. This conviction restrained 
the impetuous avowal which was ready to leap 
from his lips. He pushed back his chair, and said 
with a strong effort at self-control : 

“It is growing late ; the ladies had retired 
when I came up. Irene is in Mademoiselle Ker- 
salion’s room, and my uncle is still chatting with 
the Duke in the salon. The best thing I can do, 
I fancy, is to take my departure ; so good night, 
little Mimi.” 

Dame Perrine appeared only a few moments 
after the Count left, bringing Mimi’s supper on a 
tray. The good woman was in her heart perfectly 
delighted that Mimi had been ejected from the 
place to which the Count had seen fit to elevate 
her ; but she had a certain compassion for the 
girl nevertheless, and was disposed to do all that 
was in her power to console her. 

“ There, naughty child ! ” she said, as she 
placed the tray on a table, I have looked out for 
you to-night, although you did not deserve it. 
Why did you not take your dinner with Madame 
Gervais ? ” 

“ Because I preferred to be alone,” answered 
Mimi, rudely. 


198 


A THOKOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


“ Do you intend, then, to shut yourself up for 
the rest of your life within the four walls of this 
room?” asked good old Perrine, shrugging her 
shoulders. 

By no means,” answered Mimi. “ Look at 
me ! ” she cried, raising her arms and snapping 
her fingers above her head, as if they were cas- 
tanets — “ look ! My grief is over ; I am happy 
again ! ” 

“ Then you have some mischief in your head,” 
said Perrine, doubtfully. 

“Not at all. I have been thinking of the 
grand company that came to-day, and it has put 
me in good humor. That old lady is very funny, 
with her little figure, little voice, and little health.” 

“ Miss Mimi, you are very disrespectful ! ” ex- 
claimed Perrine, utterly scandalized. 

“ Her daughter does not resemble her,” con- 
tinued Mimi, calmly ; “ she belongs to another 
race apparently. She looks like a green katydid, 
with her slender neck and her long thin figure.” 

“ Perhaps the Duke’s figure pleases you bet- 
ter ? ” said Perrine, maliciously. 

“ I did not notice him,” answered Mimi, falsely. 

“ Truly ? ” said Perrine, with an expression of 
utter incredulity. “ I suppose you did not notice 
that he is a very handsome man.” 

Mimi shook her head. 

“ At all events, you had plenty of time to find 
out how he looked,” continued Perrine ; “ for 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


199 


wben the ladies went to their rooms before din- 
ner, you never moved from your corner. I saw 
you looking at the Duke with all the eyes in your 
head. Then when he went to dress, you slipped 
out in front of him : and when he came down the 
stairs, you were at his heels again. Don’t talk to 
me. Miss Mimi ; you know every feature in his 
face.” 

The young girl shrugged her shoulders and 
exclaimed : 

“ Hasn’t he got dear little feet, Dame Perrine ? 
weren’t they lovely with their shining shoes and 
silk stockings ! ” 


XIV. 

In those families which pride themselves on 
preserving the traditions of the past, and where 
one still finds a certain simplicity of manners and 
habits, the domestic hearth is inaccessible to all 
outside infiuences. At the manor no one seemed 
to realize the shock and current of the events 
which were then taking place in France, and 
which were startling the whole civilized world. 
The inhabitants of the Kerbs4jean mansion ig- 
nored and forgot them. After the first moment 
of indignant surprise and consternation, they 
turned away from the political orgy and took 
refuge in the peaceable sanctuary of home life. 


200 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


The new-comers speedily dropped into their 
places in this quiet home, and each one promptly 
carried out his own occupations and habits. 

Madame de Kersalion spent the morning in 
her invalid- chair on the terrace, where she drank 
in the invigorating sea-breezes. She often said, 
with the calm selfishness of a woman who has 
passed the greater part of her life upon her couch, 
a prey to all those varieties of neuralgia which 
make the fortune and the despair of physicians : 
“ Really, I ought to be very much obliged to 
those good creatures who set fire to my house, for 
they have rendered me a signal service. I have 
never been so well as since they gave me that 
awful fright.” 

Monsieur de Renoyal passed a large portion 
of his time in the library, with the Chevalier. 
Both gentlemeij were deeply interested in archse- 
ology. Gaston de Renoyal was a serious and ele- 
gant man, who had seen enough of the world to 
be willing to leave it and retire to the country. 
His cousin. Mademoiselle de Kersalion, shared his 
sentiments ; she was now very happy, and was al- 
most tempted to rejoice at the tempest which had 
thrown her on this hospitable shore. 

When the suns of March had given a faint 
tinge of green to the fields, and the violets and 
snowdrops peered out along the paths, the dwell- 
ers in the manor-house took long walks through 
the w^oods, along the slopes of the hills, and down 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


201 


in the valleys, celebrated as the places where the 
Druids offered up their sacrifices. Not far from 
the shore, in a meadow which down to this day 
bears the name Parc an Dolmen, stands one of 
these monuments of Druidical worship in which 
the whole of Brittany is rich. Superb brown 
moss carpets the rough stones arranged in the 
form of an altar. A wild rose had pushed its 
way out from among the blocks, and its graceful 
branches hung over the hewn-out basin which 
once held the blood of the human victims. The 
dense woods which at some remote period sur- 
rounded this sinister spot had now disappeared ; 
but an oak, sole relic of the sacred forest, yet 
threw its shadow over the dolmen. Strangers 
often came to this place, and lingered to gaze on 
these vestiges of past ages, or reposed on the soft 
turf which was thick and grew around the altar. 
When Ir^ne seated herself in front of this mass 
of gray stones and threw her beautiful blonde 
hair back from her haughty brow, she looked 
like one of those young Druidesses whom the 
people of ancient Brittany regarded as possessed 
of divine attributes, come to revisit this desolated 
sanctuary of her terrible god. 

Since the arrival of the new inmates of the 
manor, Mimi kept herself away from the family 
with the most obstinate perseverance ; she never 
appeared in the salon even at those hours when 
she was sure of seeing no one but Ir^ne and 


202 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


Mademoiselle de Kersalion talking over tlieir 
embroidery. The Count rarely saw her ; she 
avoided him too, seeming to have lost all plea- 
sure in his society. Yet she by no means lived 
a life of confinement in her chamber ; as Perrine 
said, no one could take a step in the house with- 
out seeing the flutter of the girl’s dress around 
an angle ; and she especially affected the deep 
windows in the corridors. The truth was that 
she was all the time trying to catch sight of a 
person of whom the most fleeting glimpse aroused 
in her heart a whirl of passionate emotion ; and 
Gaston de Renoyal might have said with truth 
that he always found her in his path, sometimes 
rosy and smiling, oftener sad and thoughtful ; 
but he took no notice of her, and never for one 
moment imagined that this beautiful young crea- 
ture was madly in love with him. 

Some weeks slowly passed away. It was nov/ 
April, and almost every day the inhabitants of 
the manor made long excursions through the pic- 
turesque country which extends from Morlaix to 
the Bay of Goulven. One morning they decided 
to visit the beautiful gardens around Roscoff — a 
drive of about three leagues. Madame de Ker- 
salion and the Chevalier occupied one carriage 
with Monsieur de Kerbsejean, while the Duke de 
Renoyal, Irene, and Mademoiselle de Kersalion 
started on horseback and galloped along the hard 
beach. As soon as the gates closed after the de- 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


203 


parture of the party, Mimi came down to the ter- 
race, and, leaning on the stone parapet, followed 
with her eyes the movements of the two ladies 
and the duke as long as she could see them : 
then, when they disappeared, she passed her hand- 
kerchief over her burning eyes, and said with 
some bitterness : 

“ They are happy ! ” 

Almost at the same moment a voice from be- 
low cried out : 

“ Good morning. Mademoiselle Mimi ! ” 

She looked down quickly, and answered as 
she lightly waved a salutation with her handker- 
chief : 

Good morning, Celestin Piolot ; what are 
you doing ? Come in and rest awhile.” 

The young man hesitated. 

‘‘Come in,” urged Mimi. “There is no one 
here ; they are riding and driving. If you had 
come a few minutes earlier you would have seen 
them starting.” 

Celestin entered the gate, and Mimi rose to 
meet him. 

“ It is a very long time since you were here,” 
she said, as she led him to the terrace. “Are 
you never going to work any more at the man- 
or ? ” 

“That depends,” he answered evasively. 
“Since Ravachon arrived, I have been all the 
time occupied with him. We have .gone through 


204 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


tlie department together, and I returned only yes- 
terday evening.” 

‘‘ There is plenty of work for you still,” con- 
tinued Mimi. “ Nothing is absolutely completed, 
and you have the locks, you know, to put on all 
the doors of the beautiful new hot-house.” 

“ I have no objection ; but I must wait a few 
days, for public business comes before everything 
else.” 

“ Ah ! you are still in the government ? ” 

‘‘ I owe it all my personal support. Ravachon 
will be here to-morrow. There are great ques- 
tions at issue. The elections are near at hand, 
and we are coming to talk to the Kerbs.6jeans.” 

“ You will find plenty of company in the salon 
nowadays,” said Mimi, with a glance at the young 
man’s costume. 

‘‘Whom do you mean? Those Parisian la- 
dies and their cousin ? What do I care ? You 
will see how I shall talk to them. We are all now 
on an equality ; or rather, I rank both the Kerb- 
se jeans on account of my being the first munici- 
pal magistrate. My nomination came this morn- 
ing, and I am now mayor of the commune of 
P .” 

“ That will not impress them much,” mur- 
mured Mimi. 

“ I could have had any position I wished,” re- 
sumed Celestin Piolot with an important air. 
“ With such friends as mine and the influence I 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


205 


have, anything is attainable. They wanted to 
give me a much finer office, hut I did not wish to 
go away from here.” 

“Ah!” said Mimi, “you have not changed 
or forgotten anything then ? ” 

Celestin took no notice of her words, hut 
looked at her attentively. 

“Mademoiselle Mimi,” he said, “I find you 
very much changed ; you are very thin, and look 
really ill. Are you well ? ” 

“IsTo,” she answered coldly — “no, I am not 
well, and I think I am dying ! ” 

“Good Heavens! what do you mean?” ex- 
claimed Celestin Piolot, greatly shocked. 

“ I am dying of grief,” said Mimi, in the same 
tone of cold indifference. 

The young man took her hand and looked her 
full in the eyes, with a tender earnestness which 
was a tacit entreaty for fuller confidence ; hut she 
shook her head as if to make him understand that 
in the depths of her heart was hidden a secret 
which could never cross her lips. A sudden sus- 
picion came like a fiash of inspiration to Celestin. 
He smiled, and said significantly : 

“ There have been some handsome young fel- 
lows among the men who were at work here ! ” 

“ How dare you say such a thing to me ! ” 
cried Mimi indignantly. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Celestin apologeti- 
cally ; “ hut if you had given your heart to one 


206 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


of these good fellows, no one would have blamed 
you of course ; for such a fancy on your part 
could have no other end than your marriage.” 

“ I shall never marry — no, never ! ” she re- 
peated, angry and ashamed. 

“You love some one, then, whom you can 
never marry,” exclaimed Celestin impetuously, 
and hardly realizing the full force of his words. 

Mimi trembled lest she had betrayed herself, 
and hastened to say : 

“ I am disgusted and weary with my life here. 
I can not endure it any longer.” 

“ Is it possible ? And yet you have been all 
these years with the Kerbse jeans ! They have 
always treated you well, that I know from my 
own observation.” 

“ I have no complaints to make of them,” an- 
swered Mimi with a somber air ; “ but accursed 
be the day that I crossed their threshold ! I was 
never made to live here ; and never — ^you under- 
stand — never can I learn to like it, or even to be- 
come accustomed to it. They might much better 
have left me with your old grandmother ; she 
would have driven me from her door, and I should 
have gone back to my old life. Ah me ! how 
often I dream of those days, when I wandered 
from town to town with my father — that dear 
father who loved me so fondly.” 

The girl’s voice broke and tears rushed to her 
eyes. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


207 


“ Do you see that turfy bank ? ” she resumed 
after a few moments, leaning over the parapet and 
pointing out the place to Celestin. “ It was there 
that my father and I sat side by side for the last 
time. Yesterday, two poor children — two vaga- 
bonds, as they are called — halted in that same 
spot. They were brother and sister, I fancy. The 
boy had a long coat, much too large for him, and 
shoes equally disproportioned ; on his back was. a 
little cage, and in it a forlorn marmoset. The girl 
was as wretched-looking as her brother — she was 
in rags, with a bundle of printed songs strapped 
to her waist. But they both looked happy, and 
laughed aloud at the marmoset, who was playing 
on the turf. I cried my eyes out when I saw 
them, and was tempted to follow them. Yes, and 
if, instead of going toward Saint Pol, they had 
taken the road to Morlaix, I should have called 
out to them to wait for me, and I should have 
gone with them ! ” 

‘‘ Do you love no one here, then ? ” asked Ce- 
lestin reproachfully — “not one among all these 
persons who have been so kind to you ? ” 

“ No, not one,” she replied with cold frank- 
ness. 

These words revolted the young man and 
chilled the sympathy with which he had received 
Mimi’s confidences. He dropped her hand, and 
after a silence he resumed, looking toward the 
garden : 


208 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


You say there is still something to be done 
in the hot-house ? ” 

“ Come and see,” she said, leading the way. 

They went toward the fragile edifice, whose 
raised sashes allowed them a glimpse of a rustic 
fountain flashing among shining leaves and flow- 
ers of every hue just bursting into bloom. 

“ It was Mademoiselle de Kerbsejean who de- 
signed this beautiful spot,” said C^lestin in admi- 
ration. 

“ And you worked on it night and day, one 
might say,” answered Mimi significantly; “it was 
your own hand that put in all that iron- work. 
But I am quite sure that you had no idea why 
mademoiselle was in such haste to finish her glass 
cage.” 

Celestin heard these last words, but did not 
notice them. He stood in the center of the green- 
house, and looked around with sad pleasure. Had 
he been alone, he would have fallen on his knees 
before the chair where Irene usually sat, and 
kissed the prints of her feet still faintly discerni- 
ble on the gravel. 

Mimi looked at him for a moment, and then, 
gently touching him on the arm, she said in a low 
voice : 

“ Are you still in love with mademoiselle ? ” 

At this unexpected question Celestin was much 
disturbed, and stammered some incoherent sen- 
tence. 


A THOEOUGH BOHEMIENNE.. 209 

“You love lier still — that I see very clearly,” 
continued Mimi, shrugging her shoulders with a 
look of disdainful pity. “Very well, you are 
mad, and I am sorry for you. That is all there is 
about it. She will never love you, you know ! ” 

“Until this time I have never had the least 
hope,” answered Celestin. 

“ And now ? ” 

“ And now — who knows ? ” replied Celestin 
with ingenuous presumption. 

Mimi burst into a shrill laugh, and then look- 
ing the young man full in his face as if to 
watch the full effect of the blow she dealt, she 
said : 

“You flatter yourself that her heart is un- 
touched. You are mistaken ; she loves the Duke 
de Renoyal.” 

Celestin turned pale and leaned his head on his 
arms, which were crossed on one of the light pil- 
lars supporting the roof of the glass house. 

“ She loved him when she was in Paris,” con- 
tinued Mimi pitilessly. “Mademoiselle de Ker- 
salion is her confidante. I have listened at their 
doors, and I have heard all they have said. Do 
you know why she wanted this hot-house built ? 
No, of course not. You can not know, but I do, 
and I will tell you. Because it was in a place 
like this that she saw Monsieur de Renoyal for 
the first time. When she comes here, and remains 
here alone for hours, it is to think and dream of 
14 


210 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


him. I think she would like to live here alto- 
gether, wrapped in these recollections.” 

“ And he loves her also ? ” interrupted C41es- 

tin. 

Mimi shook her head, and answered with an 
air of profound conviction : 

“ No — he loves no one ! ” 

The preoccupations of his recent life had in 
some degree deadened the passion which the 
young man had allowed to take full possession of 
his heart ; hut it sprang to life again at this un- 
expected intelligence. • He felt a frightful pang of 
jealousy as he thought of the rival who had but to 
show himself to win Irene’s heart. He hated him 
at once, hut being one of those men whose illu- 
sions are most tenacious, he by no means relin- 
quished the vague hopes born of the late political 
revulsion. 

“ Ah, well ! ” said Mimi after a long silence, 
“ do you still intend to remain here ? ” 

“Yes,” he answered without any hesitation. 

“ Then you still have a hope ? ” 

“ Yes, just so long as she is not married.” 

The young workman soon took his departure, 
and Mimi passed the rest of the day walking up 
and down the terrace, with her eyes fixed on the 
road by which the party must return ; but they 
did not come until night. It was not so dark, 
however, but that the Count saw her in spite of 
her precipitate retreat behind a pillar. He had 


A THOKOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


211 


not seen her for two days, for she no longer cared 
to amuse him, and, weary of the role which she 
had at one time so gladly assumed, she shunned 
every possibility of meeting him. 

It was now very dark ; the windows of the 
manor-house were lighted one after the other ; 
shadows came and went over the transparent cur- 
tains ; hells rang, maids rushed to and fro, and 
there was that general bustle which in a large 
house precedes the dinner hour. Mimi went to- 
ward one of the windows and looked in ; she 
could see the interior of the salon. Monsieur de 
Renoyal, all dressed for dinner, was alone and 
standing before the fire. His clear-cut profile 
stood out against the dark background of the 
wall, and he seemed to be examining with great 
attention the picture which represented the Coun- 
tess and her children. 

“ How handsome he is ! ” murmured Mimi 
with intense sadness at her heart ; “ and, good 
Heavens ! how I love him ! ” 

Almost at the same moment the door opened, 
and Mademoiselle de Kerbsejean appeared, as fair 
as an angel in her dress of white muslin, with 
knots of blue ribbon in her fair hair. She col- 
ored when she saw that the Duke was alone, 
and hesitated as if she wished to avoid a tUe- 
drtUe, 

Monsieur Renoyal approached her with a re- 
spectful gesture, conducted her to a chair, and 


212 


A THOROUGH BOHBMIENNE. 


then went into Madame de Kersalion’s boudoir, 
which opened from the grand salon. 

This little scene had lasted only a minute, but 
in that short time poor Mimi had experienced all 
those emotions of which a stormy nature like hers 
is capable ; her blood ran like molten lead through 
her veins, and her knees bent under her. When 
she saw that Monsieur de Renoyal had retired, she 
murmured, with inexpressible joy and triumph, 
“ No, he does not love her ! ” 

In a few minutes more all the family appeared 
in the salon, and then dinner was announced. 
Mimi sat down on a low garden bench, without 
once thinking that it was dark and that it was 
time to go in. The trees were covered with young 
leaves, and the feathery foliage cast a shadow 
over the avenues ; but the light of the rising moon 
fell full on the bench where Mimi had thrown 
herself. She never knew how long she had been 
there, when suddenly Monsieur de Kerbs6jean ap- 
peared before her. 

“ Mimi ! my poor dear child ! ” he exclaimed, 
“ what are you doing here ? I have been looking 
everywhere in the house for you.” 

She lifted her head and said moodily : 

“ What on earth do you want ? Have you 
dined already ? ” 

“No,” he answered ; “I excused myself on the 
ground that our long excursion had fatigued me 
so much, and said I should retire. I am. therefore 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


213 


supposed to be in my own room. I did this be- 
cause I wished to take advantage of this time to 
secure a few minutes’ conversation with you.” 

Mimi half rose as if to follow him indoors. 

“No,” he said, “let us stay here. We shall 
be less liable to interruption than upstairs, and I 
have things to say to you which no one but your- 
self ought ever to hear. Ah ! my dear Mimi, a 
month has passed in which I have seen nothing of 
you, but all this will be changed;” 

“ Is any one going away ? ” she asked sud- 
denly, seized by a vague anxiety. 

“ Yes — we two.” 

“You wish to go away and take me with 
you?” she cried with a gesture of involuntary 
refusal and repugnance. 

He believed that she had scruples in regard to 
going alone with him, and he hastened to add : 
“ You do not know, Mimi, what I would do for 
you. I will make you very happy, I can promise 
you this.” 

She looked at him in silent wonder. Several 
wild suppositions went through her mind, no one 
of which was anywhere near the truth. At last 
the thought occurred to her that he intended to 
adopt her, and that she, too, would be his daugh- 
ter. At this thought she trembled with delight 
and stooped to kiss the Count’s hand. 

“ Oh Mimi, my beautiful Mimi ! ” he exclaimed 
with a passionate movement. 


214 


A THOROUGH BQHEMIENNE. 


Then he recoiled as suddenly to the farther 
end of the bench, and resumed in a calm tone : 
“ I will not avow my intentions until the very last 
moment, when everything is ready for our de- 
parture. Before I can leave, however, a great 
event is to take place — my daughter’s marriage.” 

Indeed ! ” cried Mimi ; and at once ? ” 

‘‘Yes, at once,” replied the Count, with an air 
of great content. “ In a fortnight Ir^ne de Kerb- 
sejean will be called Madame la Duches’se de Re- 
noyal ! ” 

“ Ah ! then it is he whom she marries ? ” said 
Mimi, in a dull choked voice. 

“ She will remain here, happy with the hus- 
band she has chosen,” continued the Count. “ She 
will be among her family, who adore her, while I, 
Mimi, will go away, and shall have only you. 
But I have no regrets, my child. Do you under- 
stand me now ? ” 

She did not answer ; she did not even appear 
to hear him. 

“ Mimi,” resumed the Count, taking her hand, 
“ in a few weeks . you will be my wife ; you will 
be the Countess de Kerbs4jean.” 

“ I — your wife ! ” she cried, with a laugh that 
was almost insulting. “Ko, I will never be your 
wife ! ” 

The possibility of a refusal had never occurred 
to the Count, and he looked at Mimi with a stupe- 
fied expression. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


215 


"ISTo,” she repeated, energetically, ‘‘I will 
never marry you. Of course I could never marry 
a man of your age.” 

As she uttered these words she rose and rushed 
hurriedly away. The Count made no effort to de- 
tain her ; he was overwhelmed with astonishment 
and confusion. It was as if he had received a 
slap in his face, and the shock restored him in 
some degree to his senses. He began to reflect 
and to form some sensible resolutions. He was 
not quite weak enough to follow Mimi and entreat 
her to listen to his reproaches or supplications. 
He went at once to his rooms and locked his doors. 
When Perrine went, however, according to her 
usual custom, to say good night to him, he allowed 
her to come in, and, after a few unimportant ques- 
tions, asked her with a deep sigh what Mimi was 
doing. 

‘‘She has gone to bed without her supper,” 
said the good woman ; “ that is all I know. • She 
is absolutely unmanageable of late ; her temper 
grows worse and worse. I really believe the girl 
has something on her mind — -something that wor- 
ries her very much.” 

“ What is it ? Can you form no idea ? ” 

“ Perhaps I can,” answered Dame Perrine, with 
a sagacious nod of the head. “ To-day she spent 
a couple of hours with Celestin Piolot in the con- 
servatory — ” 

“ Upon my life ! ” exclaimed the Count, with 


216 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


a movement of irrepressible anger ; but be con- 
trolled bimself quickly, and added as if speaking 
to bimself : ‘‘ It is a great pity that I bad not 
known tbis earlier ! ” 

Mimi bad, as old Perrine said, retired to ber 
room ; but nothing was further from ber inten- 
tions than to go to bed and to sleep. On the con- 
trary, she was busily occupied with preparations 
for departure. She moved about as noiselessly as 
possible, and bung a dark shawl over the keyhole 
of the door which led into Perrine’s room. About 
two o’clock, when she was sure that every one 
was asleep in the house, she crept down stairs, 
opened the door softly, and stepped over the 
threshold of the Kerbsejean mansion for the last 
time. When she reached the shore she turned 
once more toward the manor-house, and mut- 
tered : 

“ I would go to the end of the world rather 
than see their happiness'! ” 

It was a soft dewy night in early spring ; the 
moon was just going down, and not a sound save 
the gentle tumult of the waves disturbed the 
solemn silence. Mimi walked on with a rapid 
step, without a thought or a glance for this peace- 
ful picture. When she reached Celestin Piolot’s 
house she rapped lightly on the wooden shutter, 
through the cracks in which came a faint glimmer 
of light. The young man had not retired, and he 
at once opened the shutter. 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 


217 


“You here at this hour?” he cried, seeing 
Mimi wrapped in a shawl with a little bundle 
under her arm and her straw hat on the back of 
her head. 

“I am going away,” she said coldly; “the 
children of whom I spoke are undoubtedly at Saint 
Pol still ; I am going to try and join them.” 

“ And what will you do then ? ” 

“ Heaven only knows I probably just what 1 
did before, when I was little.” 

“ What utter folly ! ” cried Celestin. “A girl 
of your age can not roam through the world in 
this wild fashion ! What will you do ? How 
will you earn your bread ? ” 

She opened her shawl and showed him hanging 
at her side the tin box which contained her papers. 
Her tamborine she carried under her arm. 

“ Yes, I am going away,” she said, “ and I ad- 
vise you to do the same. MademoiseUe is to marry 
the Duke in a few days.” 

Celestin clung to the bars of the window like 
a man who suddenly feels the earth crumble under 
his feet, and whose brain is dizzy ; then he sum- 
moned strength to gasp in a choked voice : 

“ Are you sure of what you say ? ” 

“ You will see,” answered Mimi, “ because they 
will be married before you, of course. You are 

the mayor of P , now, are you not ? ” 

“ I shall send in my resignation at once ! ” 


218 A THOHOUGH BOHEMIENNE. 

cried Celestin, “ and then I shall go far away — far 
away from every one who ever knew me. All the 
ties which bound me here are broken, and I shall 
devote my whole future life to my country. I 
must find Ravachon and place myself at his dis- 
posal.” 

“ Farewell, then ! ” said Mimi coldly, folding 
her shawl, as she spoke, over her breast, crossing 
it, and knotting it behind. “ K you should happen 
to hear any inquiries made for me, say, if you 
please, that I have gone away where none of them 
can see me again, and that I shall never come 
back ! ” 

It was in this extraordinary way that the 
daughter of the mountebank left the manor-house 
whose roof had been her shelter for so long. But 
the next day when Irene was told of her depar- 
ture, she wept bitterly and refused to be comforted 
for some time. 

Monsieur de Kerbsejean was both anxious and 
alarmed ; he sent in every direction in search of 
her. He sent her clothing and money by the mes- 
sengers, but they came back with both. Then the 
poor man went in search of Perrine, whom he 
found sweeping and arranging the room of the 
fugitive. When he expressed his anxiety, and his 
regret that Mimi had taken nothing away with 
her, the good woman consoled him. 

“ She has taken with her nothing that is useful, 
master, that is certain.” And she opened the 


A THOROUGH BOHEMIENNE. 219 

well-filled drawers in tlie bureau. “She has left 
all these, and taken only the bunch of feathers 
torn from the fan you gave her, and the beautiful 
pink dress embroidered with silver. Ah ! mas- 
ter, it was no use to try to do anything with her ; 
she is indeed a thorough Bohemian.” 


THE END. 



HEALTH, 

AND 

HOW TO PROMOTE IT. 

By BICHABD McSHEKEY, M. D., 

Pioiessor of Principles and Practice of Medicine. University of Maryland ; Member of 
American Medical Association ; President of Baltimore. Academy of Medicine. 


Extract fram Preface. 

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CONTENTS. 

PABT L— INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. 

Hygiene the Better Part of Medicine.— The Four Divisions of Human 
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XIV. JEAN TETEROUS IDEA. A Novel. From 

the French of Victor Cherbuliez 60 i.oo.i 

XV. TALES FROM THE GERMAN OF PA UL 

HEYSE . 60 I.OO: 

XVI. THE DIARY OF A WOMAN From the ; 

French of Octave P'euillet 50 .75^ 


B. APPIiETON & CO., Publishers, New York. 

f** Either of the above volumes sent by mail, post-paid, to any address in the*^ 
United States or Canada, upon receipt of the price. 








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